


The Waves We Leave Behind Us

by ajackdaw



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajackdaw/pseuds/ajackdaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the year is 1722 and Edward Kenway is both feared pirate and Brotherhood Assassin, titles that came at the price of those he loved. He has riches, fame, and an oath to something greater than himself, but he lacks something—a family. He never thought he’d find it in eight year old castaway Connor.</p>
<p>Fished from the Caribbean waters and wearing a red sash, the boy soon becomes part of the Jackdaw's crew, part of Edward's family. But the newly orphaned boy has a secret of his own that continues to hunt him across the Caribbean, even if he doesn't know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rolling Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [prompt](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?replyto=10191619) that I've been sitting on for far too long
> 
> Also, the FAQ tells me that '&' indicates a platonic, familial relationship. So there is NO ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN EDWARD AND CONNOR HERE. Back arrow now if that's what you were looking for
> 
> Since I compressed AC4 and AC3 into one narrative some things had to be worked out to make it fit so here's what you need to know before reading:
> 
> -This is written with post-AC4 Edward in mind (less cocky, kinder, and an official Master Assassin)  
> -Haytham and Edward are cousins and there's no Jenny  
> -Mary is dead  
> -Adéwalé is still the Jackdaw's quartermaster  
> -Robert is not the Sage but a member of the English Navy  
> -Edward never met Rogers or Julien du Casse  
> -Haytham married Ziio and quit the Templars

**I. Rolling Home**

“Rolling Home”  
Up aloft, amid the rigging  
Swiftly blows the fav’ring gale,  
Strong as springtime in its blossom,  
Filling out each bending sail,  
And the waves we leave behind us  
Seem to murmur as they rise;  
We have tarried here to bear you  
To the land you dearly prize.

…

Full ten thousand miles behind us,  
And a thousand miles before,  
Ancient ocean waves to waft us  
To the well remembered shore.  
Newborn breezes swell to send us  
To our childhood welcome skies,  
To the glow of friendly faces  
And the glance of loving eyes.

***

Edward kept his breathing steady, wary of the guards patrolling ever closer to his hidden position. The planned night raid on the plantation on Cat Island had, so far, gone off without a hitch and Edward was keen on ending the mission on the same note. It had taken the pirate the better part of two hours to work his way through the numerous sugarcane fields and thick island foliage to reach the warehouse without alerting the guards to his presence.

Currently, the man was hidden in the small outdoor storeroom attached to the warehouse’s outer wall, the thin wooden doors hastily latched in case Edward needed to launch into an offensive against an enemy. The uneven planks allowed small flickers of torch light to reach into the small space, their faint color piercing through the otherwise pitch black of the enclosed space. The small structure likewise housed the few muskets not in use by the patrolling guards, leaving hardly any room in the space for a man to squeeze himself into, but Edward was no ordinary man and had practiced hiding in uncomfortable places countless of times over the course of his career as both pirate and assassin.

The pair of footsteps grew louder and Edward braced himself for any possible outcome as they neared his hiding place. The muskets at his back dug into his skin even through his thick leather armor and robes as he pressed further back into the space. But luck, it seemed, was with him.

The pair of patrolling guards passed by the small structure without pause as they continued around the building, the men’s voices pitched low as they complained over the newest overseer. One who was currently knocked out and hidden in a haystack—minus several of his possessions including the warehouse key—courtesy of Edward himself. The man would awake with a splitting headache long after Edward and the Jackdaw left Cat Island with the plantation’s goods and supplies.

Silently thanking careless soldiers, Edward eased the door open to peer over the gently sloping fields surrounding the storehouse. He narrowed his vision to bring out his second sight and only left the small enclosure when no sign of red appeared after a careful search.

Agilely twirling the storehouse’s key around his fingers, Edward approached the side door leading into the large wooden structure. Moments later, he was inside and perusing the contents hidden in barrels and crates throughout the room.

The stacks of goods towered over the man and promised a good haul even if most of it had to be left behind. Most overeager pirates would attempt to take the lot and wound up in chains or at the end of a rope more often than not, but Edward was far from being wet-behind-the-ears in the act of piracy. Rather, he expertly located the most lucrative of the goods—the sugar and the like—and carefully arranged them near the door in a tall stack.

He let out a pleased hum when he noticed that there was a sizeable stash of rum and made note to keep a few bottles for himself and the lads before selling off the rest to the nearest agreeable merchant.

Keeping his footsteps silent, Edward crept to the back door of the warehouse and slid the door open with nary a sound. His eyes quickly picked out the figures of his men hidden underneath the nearest dock, their forms reading bright blue in his second sight. The small group had huddled underneath the wood, expertly moving out of sight whenever a patrolling guard neared but remaining focused on the warehouse and awaiting Edward’s call.

Edward waited for the latest patrol to pass by and motioned his men forward with a short gesture, his leeriness over being caught evident from the sharpness of the motion. It was rare but he had been caught at this state of raiding before due to the careless inattention of a crewmember and the event had ended in more than a few deaths—both enemy and friend. However, his crew had since learned and quickly entered the house without being seen (Edward’s heart had leapt when one of the newer men stumbled over an unseen rock but the man remained upright and continued on without further mishap).

The captain silently motioned towards the stack of goods they were to take with them, and while a few of the men cast longing gazes towards the remaining goods each of them took up a short stack of goods into their arms. The group made their way out of the warehouse, creeping slowly around the large structure in an uneven line.

Edward had already planned out their escape from the plantation hours before making land, knowing that it was better to be prepared than to be caught flat-footed. That lesson he had learned in Havana after an assassination had turned south and Edward had barely been able to escape with his own life. Rhona still reminded him of it whenever he came to her bureau.

Shaking his idle thoughts off, Edward focused once more on the situation at hand.

A well-worn path led from the warehouse to the Northwest beaches where the Jackdaw was moored. Currently the brig was hidden from the plantation’s patrolling guards by the small cliff side that overlooked the beaches and the cover of night.

Mother Nature herself also seemed to be on the side of the raiding pirates, offering a thick cloud coverage that muted the light of the moon and stars. Edward however, refused to become too comfortable regardless of how well things had gone so far. All it would take was one unexpected guard to blow the situation out of control, one misstep that had the very real possibility of ending in bloodshed.

Once, in another lifetime, he might have waved off such concerns and swaggered through the entire raid with nary a care for its possible outcomes. He would have welcomed the promise of a good fight even at the cost of some of his men (and would have later written their deaths off as a “necessity” for the raid to have been successful). But Edward was a changed man; Mary—and the Assassin’s Brotherhood—had seen to that.

When the men made it past the last copse of palm trees that separated the fringes of the plantation from the rest of the island, Edward allowed the tension to melt out from his shoulders. He adopted a more relaxed stance, his hands remaining on his blades but no longer clutched around the leather handles in a white-knuckled grip. His men picked up on his mood and broad smiles crossed their faces though they kept up their quick pace over the loose sands.

They were welcomed back onto the Jackdaw with a muted cheer, affably shaking hands and offering bows to the jeers of their comrades.

“Enough of that now, lads,” Edward reprimanded, taking the helm from Adéwalé and calling for the anchor to be brought back onboard. “We’re not out of the woods just yet.”

His men quieted down and prepared the ship to set sail, their movements were quick and sure even so late in the evening that it was nearing the early hours of morning.

Adéwalé moved about the deck, his large form darting easily between the numerous crew members as he called out orders. Ever the efficient quartermaster, Edward thought with no small amount of pride.

It was only after the Jackdaw’s sails billowed out and the ship drew away from the cliffs that Edward spoke again, “Though it was a hell of a job, lads.”

A ringing cheer met his words, one Edward joined in with a voice bolstered by triumphant joy.

Adéwalé approached Edward and although his gaze was as sharp as ever, he could not hide the exhaustion that threatened to overtake them. Evidently, he had not rested since the Jackdaw moored off of Cat Island’s cliffs in the darkening hours of the day previous. Edward was touched by his quartermaster’s dedication and concern for both himself and the crew of the Jackdaw. He was grateful to have such a friend and Brother on board his ship.

“What’s our heading, captain?”

“Nassau, I think,” Edward replied. “But perhaps the long way ‘round?”

Adéwalé caught on immediately, as he always did. “Florida?”

“We’ve had a great haul, no doubt,” Edward said, unable to stifle the proud grin that danced on the edges of his lips. “But I think we can stand to fit a few more barrels of rum into our cargo hold.”

“The men would be most pleased by that if a few were to remain on board,” Adéwalé said, a knowing grin crossing his features. Edward was never one to turn down good advice when he heard it and right now was no exception. “I think it a fair trade for their hard work today, don’t you, Brother?”

“I think we can make an exception or perhaps a dozen.”

Adéwalé merely grinned in response and Edward returned one in kind. He stepped back from the wheel, allowing his quartermaster to take his place at the helm.

“Put a few leagues between us and the plantation Adé and then have the lads settle the ship for the night.”

“It will be done, Edward.”

Duties delegated, Edward retreated into his cabin, pausing before the door to spare a final glance out over the deck and the crew members still scuttling about it.

It was not often that he got the chance to watch his crew in action without being at the center of it himself, calling out orders and overseeing that they were carried out with the utmost haste and care. But here, in the early hours before dawn, he could step back and hide in the shadows cast by the helm and late hour, looking over his men.

His eyes caught on the tails of red that wound around a few men’s waists, the bright material separating them easily from the rest of the crew. The sashes denoted them as Brothers, ones hardly above the rank of Novice, and tentatively entrusted to Edward by their mentor.

While Ah Tabai had been reluctant to allow them to travel with the Jackdaw, Edward had belayed his worries. No harm would come to them from the Templars—Edward and Adéwalé, both Master Assassins, would make sure of that.

His eyes caught on the large form of his fellow Master Assassin as he worked his way across the deck, stopping to relay orders to the night crew. As if sensing his gaze, Adéwalé looked over his shoulder towards the captain. The man offered a brief nod, one Edward returned in kind before he entered his cabin.

The private space was cluttered with crates and chests filled with the more selective items from their hauls, items that Edward kept to keep them from his men’s pockets. A large round table dominated the center of the room, its dark surface covered in maps and missives that Edward studied for hours in his spare time.

On expert sea-legs Edward wove through the tight spaces in-between the cargo and tables, his pace never faltering even as the Jackdaw rocked from larger waves.

Edward disrobed and prepared for sleep all the while softly singing. It was a shanty that he had learned years ago and one he thought he had forgotten but the words came easily to his lips. While he was not accustomed to it and had little reason to sing it now, so far from Great Inagua and home, it fit the lightness in his heart.

“Full ten thousand miles behind us, and a thousand miles before,” Edward sang. The notes were barely audible over sound of the waves breaking against the Jackdaw’s hull outside his cabin. “Ancient ocean waves to waft us to the well remembered shore.”


	2. Castaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Connor

**II. Castaway**

 “Starboard, captain! Looks like a wreck survivor,” the call from one of his men—Taylor, he believed—shook Edward from his haze. The sea had been unbearably calm that day with hardly a wind to drive the Jackdaw along. A castaway provided a welcome distraction to the monotony. 

Pulling his spyglass from its pouch, Edward swiveled the lens around to find the person adrift. A small blot on the calm sea gave away its location and he spun the helm towards the small figure.

 As they sailed closer, Edward realized that it was not distance that made the figure appear small, but rather they were small. No larger than a child and certainly not a youth beyond their twelfth year.

 “Throw a line out!” Edward called, Adéwalé relaying his order down the deck. A fluster of movement along the rail signified that his order had been heard and was carried out, the men grunting as they tugged a small figure over the wooden rails.

 “Take the helm, Adé.” Edward stepped away from the wheel, never hesitating in his stride as he knew Adéwalé would be there the moment he moved away. Funny how years ago he would never have released the helm even under threat of death.

 The men further down the deck hovered over the castaway though they seemed hesitant to approach too closely.

“What is it lads?” the Assassin called out, stride lengthening at the hint of unease his men displayed. Whoever they drew aboard could just as easily be cast over should they prove a threat to his crew. The life of a castaway was paltry compared to the lives of his men.

Brushing aside his men, he stood over the nearly drowned figure—a boy no more than twelve years he realized now that he was closer.

Their dark hair was longer than usual for boys his age; flat black in color and tied in braids that were messy and tangled in painful looking knots from the saltwater. Small glass beads of a vibrant blue color kept the braids in place though they too were ensnared in the black strands. His skin was too dark to belong to any Englishman or even a Spaniard, looking more akin to the natives’ amongst the hidden isles of the Caribbean. Opia, Edward remembered, had skin similar to this boy’s though not quite so pale. A half-breed, Edward concluded, watching the boy heave in air as though he had swam to the Jackdaw from where ever he had come from.

“Boy,” Edward’s voice was not gentle but cooled, offering neither warmth nor dismissal to the young castaway. “How came you to be out here at sea? And without a ship or boat? Were you trying to swim to the islands? I assure you, there are easier ways to traverse these waters.”

The boy remained quiet, small chest no longer heaving but still. Edward was reminded of the wild deer he encountered on the nearby islands. Skittish in nature and fleeing from animals and humans alike, it was almost impossible to catch glimpses of them. They were so still and quiet that one might think them statues but for the flickering of their ears.

“The Cap’n asked yeh a question brat!” one of the sailors—Richard, a new recruit from the Cayman islands—snarled at the boy, not taking kindly to the irreverence the boy displayed towards his captain.

“At ease, lad,” Edward said and waved his men away, creating a small space around himself and the stranger.

His men prowled around the area like a pack of dogs, ready to move at the slightest hint of danger towards their captain. Their loyalty was reassuring though their insistence on aid a tad insulting to Edward’s own mettle. It was just a boy after all. One hardly old enough to be away from his mother, let alone lost at sea with no companions in sight.

“We mean you no harm, if that’s what holds your tongue.”

“You are pirates.”

The words startled Edward; he had thought the boy a mute or ill of wit, incapable of understanding English.

Edward cast a quick glance towards his rough crew and still flag, wondering what the boy noticed first.

“Aye, we are.” Edward saw no point in lying. After all, why should he bend to the will of a boy for the sake of comfort or deceit? He doubted the castaway had anything to offer his crew or himself. “And what think you of pirates?”

“I hate them.” the words were blunt but said with a coldness Edward was unused to hearing from grown men let alone small children.

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Edward gave a short theatrical sigh and moved to circle around the boy like an eagle sizing up its prey. “As we are now in charge of your fate. Tell me, what shall we do with you?”

The boy was silent a moment before he responded: “Take me to Kingston.”

The answer surprised the captain. Kingston was quit a distance from their current location and not a placed traveled to lightly, least not by pirates. As of late, the British and Spanish patrols had increased in the area, attacking pirates with a vehemence unseen in previous years.

“Well that is a ways away; off our course and someplace not welcome to my kind at the moment. Why should we sail across so many enemies for a boy—without name might I add—who we neither know nor care for?”

The boy’s lips pressed into a fine line, his eyes showing an internal struggle. Eventually, he spoke, “My name is Connor.”

“And where, _Connor_ ,” Edward said, stressing the lack of a last name. “Are your parents?”

“Dead,” the words were spoken with a sense of finality, pushed out from lips that clamped down on the final syllable.

Edward paused. The small flicker of conscience Kidd insisted he had poked its way towards the fore of his mind. He had no reason to pry, but by the manner in which Connor spoke of them, he assumed they had passed recently. Perhaps even, if he had to guess, in the same accident that caused the boy himself to be adrift at sea.

Time stretched between the two as Edward stared at the boy—Connor—with the lad staring back, brown eyes unwavering. Finally, the blonde man looked away, shooting a quick glance towards Adéwalé at the helm. His Quartermaster would be none too pleased if they just left the boy on the next spit of land, but Kingston was out of the question. Not with Torres rumored to be in the city.

“We cannot take you to Kingston. But!” Edward injected seeing the boy open his mouth. “We can take you to the nearest port with ships headed south. It’s close by and has enough merchant boats for you to catch a ride on. It’s your best offer lad, best take it now.”

Perhaps seeing there was no arguing with the older man, Connor nodded and pushed himself up with the aid of the rail. A pleased smile flitted across Edward’s lips, glad that the boy hadn’t put up a fuss about the deal.

“Right! Now that that’s all settled, I’ll have Adé get you ready for your duties.” That drew the boy up short.

“Duties?”

“Come now, you didn’t think we’d do this for free? No, little wreck-boy, you will be our cabin boy for the duration of your stay. If that doesn’t suit you…well, the sea is all around and I’m sure another ship will pass by. Sooner or later.”

If Edward was hoping for a rise out of the boy, he was sorely disappointed. The child merely nodded before stepping unsteadily towards Edward.

“Fine.”

Edward cast a quick, doubtful look towards the boy’s legs. Obviously, the child was unused to being on a ship if he couldn’t walk steadily across a rocking hull—even one as slow moving as today’s. If he was to stay and serve aboard the Jackdaw, he would need to find his sea-legs—and quick—If he stumbled even on the calmest of days. Even as he thought that, a breeze tugged at his hood.

“Right then, come along. The wind’s finally picking up and I want to be somewhere other than here before the day is out.” Marching across the deck, Edward headed towards his quartermaster, the soft (and slightly stumbling) footfalls of Connor not far behind.

“Captain?” Adéwalé asked, his question obvious. He stepped away from the helm to allow Edward control once more, settling against the railing off to the right. Connor stopped a few paces behind Edward, his unease obvious though he tried to hide it.

“Adé, this here is Connor, our new cabin boy,” Edward said, motioning towards the boy. “We’ve made a trade of sorts. We’ll take him to Andreas if he promises to work for the trip. Besides, we have cargo that needs unloading and selling and it’s as good a place as any to do so.”

“Andreas Island is no small distance from here, captain,” his quartermaster said, motioning for Connor to come closer. He sized the boy up quietly, waiting for his captain’s answer.

“True. But then, we have more than enough room in the hold for a few more raids. I’ve even heard rumor of a royal convoy in the area. Even if it proves false, it might be worth looking into. Either way, we’re riding this squall so call it out, quartermaster.”

Adéwalé nodded, calling out to the crew to unfurl the sails double time to catch the wind before it died again.

The large man waved over a nearby crew member to take the native boy below deck and get him settled before his duties began. The two pirates exchanged quick words before the quartermaster resumed his position by Edward.

“This is unlike you Edward,” Adéwalé said, gaze focused not on his captain but on the seas, ever the alert quartermaster. The blonde Assassin knew immediately what his friend was referring to.

“Why Adé, are you admonishing me for having a conscience?” Edward said. “I’d hoped that you’d be in support of my decision.”

“I am glad to see that you didn’t just throw the boy overboard again, but is it wise to take a stranger onboard? We do not know how he came to be adrift out here.”

Edward was silent a moment, trying to find a way to explain to Adéwalé why he decided to keep Connor on board.

“Whatever risk he brings, the Jackdaw and her crew are more than capable of handling it. Besides, our Creed forbids the killing of innocents.” Here he saw Adéwalé smile and realized he had passed some sort of test from his quartermaster. Smiling slightly he continued, pleased despite himself. “Even I am not so cold as to maroon a boy on the next island I see. We’ll take him to port and from there he’s on his own.”

“Aye, captain.”

Both men watched as the boy disappeared below deck, his head never moving to take in the rest of the ship. Rather, it was direct solely on the crew member in front of him as he was lead through the deck’s hatch. The lack of interest bothered Edward. It was so contrary to his own actions as both pirate and Assassin that he couldn’t understand why the boy would be so careless with his surroundings. What it said about the boy, he wasn’t entirely sure though he was more than interested in finding out.

***

After leaving Adéwalé at the helm, Edward ventured below deck to see how things were progressing with the Jackdaw’s newest member.

He entered a scene that could only be defined as the epitome of obstinacy. The boy—Connor—stood in the center of the crew’s quarters, arms crossed and a surprisingly mulish expression on his face. The effect was ruined by the small puddle of water forming beneath the boy’s feet however.

The crew member that had brought him down wore a similar expression and looked to be near the end of his patience.

It had only been a few minutes since Edward had seen the man leave the deck with the boy so his attitude surprised and disappointed him in equal measure. It did not bode well for the man if he could not even handle a child for a small measure of time, regardless of his occupation as a pirate. He should have had Adé assign a fellow Brother to get the boy settled as those in the Brotherhood were known for their patience.

Edward coughed softly to draw the attention of both males, taking amusement from how both jumped at the unexpected noise. The other man startled at Edward’s sudden appearance before hastily straightening in a clumsy pantomime of standing at attention.

“I’ll take over, lad,” Edward said, motioning for the man to leave. “Best you leave it to me.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Edward turned to regard Connor, adopting an easy and open posture in deference to the boy’s closed off state.

“Giving my men a hard time?” Edward chided

“No.” Even the boy’s tone was mulish.

Edward was too unused to dealing with children and found that he responded as if the boy were one of his own rather than a stranger. It was easier to fall back on familiar habits when in an unfamiliar situation and he found the sharp tone of command coming to him nearly unbidden. “You would do well to remember your situation, boy.”

Connor ducked his head but Edward knew it had little to do with the boy being properly chastised and more to do with his anger. Edward sucked a quick breath between his teeth before letting it out slowly, focusing on draining his anger in time with the released air.

“Connor,” Edward began, unsure where he was headed as soon as he spoke. Nevertheless, he pushed on. “I understand that you seem to hold some hatred towards my kind, but this journey will be far more enjoyable if you did not fight it every step of the way. You will find that the Jackdaw is not so similar to other pirate crews.”

The boy raised his head, lips pressed into a thin line but he nodded at Edward’s words. Whether or not he truly believed them was another matter, one for another time at that.

“I have given you my word that we will see you to port and you can take that to heart. I am a man of my word, if nothing else,” Edward said. “I hope that you too are a man who owns up to his promises?”

“I am,” Connor said, defiance lacing every word. But hidden behind the irreverent attitude was a glimmer of pride. Even at such a young age, Edward knew that the boy would hold to his promise. Despite their rough start, Edward found himself slightly impressed by what he found in the boy. It was the same feeling he experienced whenever one of his men was able to execute a heist on their own.

“Excellent,” Edward said. “Then I’ll have you begin helping Adé immediately.”

He motioned towards the wet fabric that still dripped onto the floor. “But first we need to deal with that mess.”

Edward’s offer to replace the boy’s clothes with a set less water-logged was met with a stony look and an emphatic “no”. The boy was obstinate. It took nearly half an hour’s worth of convincing that Edward would merely have the clothes washed and dried, and not tossed overboard as the child seemed to fear.

Once Edward sent the boy off—dressed now in the smallest nightshirt and breeches onboard and swimming in the excess fabric—he took a moment to look over the articles, trying to glean more about the Jackdaw’s latest member.

The clothes were odd, if Edward were to be honest with himself. They resembled neither the clothes worn by the Caribbean’s Colonists nor the Natives of the surrounding islands. The patterns, fabrics, and cut were unfamiliar to the Assassin and he wondered just where Connor had come from to have such a unique set of clothing.

The top and bottoms were made from a soft, tawny hide (deer, Edward suspected) with neat fringe outlining the shirt’s deep, v-shaped neckline. A subtle geometric pattern was woven in coarse red thread around the hems of the shirt and tops of the boots.

Unlike the Natives’ of the islands (or even those in Tulum), Connor wore large boots that covered the majority of his legs. They were made of a studier, darker hide than the pants and, like the shirt, had fringe running along the back of the calves; the small strips of fabric had brushed against the ground when the boy walked. The contrast with local traditions surprised Edward as it spoke of a harsher terrain than that of the tropical lands of the Caribbean.

The final item was the most unusual.

The red sash of the boy’s outfit gave Edward pause, the familiar article bringing his inspection up short. The short length of fabric was dyed an intense red with a delicate, white triangular pattern woven into the center of the sash that continued along its entire length.  While not exclusively belonging to the Assassins’, their customary red sash was an obvious marker and Edward had seen few people wear such an article who weren’t involved with the Brotherhood. Surely a young boy would have no connection to the Brotherhood, even one as strange as Connor.

Shaking his head, Edward bundled the clothes together and sent them with a runner down to those in charge of the crew’s laundry that day to be cleaned as best they could.

Answers, it seemed, would have to come from the boy himself.

***

Edward returned to the deck, blinking against the bright sunlight that momentarily blinded him as he exited the hatch.

The midday Caribbean sun was particularly intense that afternoon, heated rays that beat down upon Edward’s shoulders and filtered through the Jackdaw’s white sails. That, couple with the crystal clear sky, would have made the day idyllic if not for the earlier excitement.

Edward cleared his visions with a sharp shake of his head and returned to his position at the helm. The Jackdaw had covered a great distance since the winds had picked up and Edward was pleased to note that he could no longer see an endless, unbroken sea but could spot the faint outline of the Bimini Isles to the south.

He caught flurried movement out of the corner of his eye which on a normal day would not have been cause for notice or alarm, but the day’s strange turns and unexpected guest had Edward on edge. Every movement, even those belonging to his own crew members, was looked at twice and taken note of before finally being dismissed as no cause for alarm. As such, the flurry of beige fabric drew Edward’s keen eye immediately.

Connor stood next to a crew member lounging along the Jackdaw’s rail, small arms waving in wild movements that caused his wide cuffs to flap about. The other man—and Edward could not for the life of him remember his name—smirked down at the boy before shaking his head in response to what the other had said.

Edward did not think that Connor would voluntarily interact with any of the crew members on a casual basis so he must have been acting on Adéwalé’s orders. If he was, than the other man’s dismissive actions reflected poorly on the Jackdaw and her crew. A reflection that Edward found he could not abide.

He cast a glance over towards his quartermaster and saw the man with a thunderous expression blooming across his features. It seemed he was not alone in his thoughts.

Just as Adéwalé was about to head down and interfere, Edward spoke up, “I’ll handle it, Adé.”

“You are certain, captain?” Adéwalé said. Edward knew the man’s hesitancy wasn’t born out of a lack of faith in Edward’s abilities but out of his own desire to chastise the crew member.

“Positive.”

Edward strode confidently down the short staircase, easing into the space occupied by boy and pirate without a sound.

“Problem, gentlemen?” Edward said, startling the two. The crew member jolted off the railing while Connor glared at the wooden planks beneath his feet before turning it on to Edward.

“No, captain.”

“Because it seemed to me that you were ignoring your orders, sailor,” Edward said, not caring for the other’s answer and continuing as if the other had not answered at all.

“I—“

“You heard our quartermaster’s announcement this afternoon?” Edward said in an even tone that was by no means gentle. He did not take well to men deliberately disobeying his orders or acting the fool as this man was—new recruit or not. Liberties could not be taken with his orders, no matter how great or small.

“Aye, captain,” he said, tone wavering in fear of his captain and his infamous reputation.

“You should have been made aware that this is our new cabin boy,” Edward said. “And as such, he acts with the authority of the Jackdaw’s quartermaster, not to mention my own. Is that not so?”

“It is.”

“Then you would be wise to listen to what he has to say and take it as my own word.”

“Sorry captain, it won’t happen again,”

“See that it doesn’t.” Edward replied, his tone brokering no room for argument.

Almost as an afterthought, he cast his gaze down to Connor who had been remarkably silent during his exchange with the pirate.

The boy wore a look of immense surprise, as if baffled on why the captain had defended him, a stranger, against his own crew member. Edward himself was shocked at how readily he came to the boy’s defense. He was a stranger, one who had not been onboard for longer than four hours at that. But the words of his creed echoed in his mind and he was content with the answer they provided: stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent; and a verbal attack on one so young was just as harmful as a physical blow.

His brown eyes were wide and warily regarded the captain from beneath his black fringe. Edward could tell that the boy was two steps away from bolting if Edward said the wrong thing.

Rather than comment further on the exchange, Edward thought it best to continue as if it had not occurred at all. He raised a single golden brow down at boy, jerking his head towards the helm and Adéwalé.

“Hop to it, cabin boy,” Edward said, prodding Connor into action. “I’m sure Adé has more work for you yet.”

The boy cast one final glance over his shoulder at Edward before joining Adé at the helm.

Connor had only been on board for a few hours and already he was throwing the ship into disorder.

_Excellent,_ Edward thought with no small amount of sarcasm but not as much as he would have thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any comments or critiques would be amazing! 
> 
> Also, a note on the dialogue. I'm trying to copy to style used in the game and how I think it would sound in the time period, but it might come across as stilted or off. So, any comments on that would be really helpful :)


	3. To You, From Halcyon Days

**III. To You, From Halcyon Days**

Thankfully Connor’s second day on board the Jackdaw proved to be far less exciting than his first. In fact, the day began with such little fanfare that Edward forgot that the boy had even been brought into the fold of the Jackdaw’s crew. He would have forgotten entirely if he had not seen the boy running about the deck just before midday.

Edward watched as the boy carried out his new duties from his perch at the helm. Over the course of the afternoon, he watched as the boy crossed the deck no less than seven times, his small form slipping between the men and barrels with increasing dexterity.

Occasionally the child would stop next to Adéwalé for a new message to relay or errand to run. All of which, Edward knew, pertained solely to the less vital aspects of keeping the Jackdaw running smoothly.

They were not so foolish as to entrust the boy with the more delicate aspects of the Jackdaw. Child or not, he was a stranger to the Jackdaw and had not yet earned the trust of its captain or quartermaster. It would also not do to give the boy an inflated sense of his position on board the brig, but the more Edward saw of the boy the less he feared such an occurrence.

From what he could tell from watching the boy over the course of two days, and from what Adéwalé told him, the truth of the situation was becoming readily apparent: Connor could be trusted to carry out his duties, seemingly out of a sense of duty to the promise he had made. It seemed that Edward’s words from the first day had struck a chord in the small child and brought out a sense of determination more akin to those twice (or more) the boy’s age.

It was…heartening (if Edward had to put a word to it) to see although it felt odd all the same. Despite the boy’s despairing first words, he fit quite well amongst the pirates and assassins.

Connor carried out whatever task was asked of him with minimal fuss, traversing the levels of the Jackdaw on legs that shook less and less by the hour. He was almost shaping into a proper cabin boy. Edward would have said the boy enjoyed the work if not for the mulish expression he wore (though Edward noted that that too diminished—however slowly—over the days even if it never quite disappeared altogether). In fact, the boy’s somber attitude unsettled Edward if only because he was unaccustomed to seeing it on someone so young.

He had needled the boy’s age out of Connor earlier that morning when he caught the boy between tasks and had been shocked at the answer. At eight years of age, the boy showed a remarkable level of composure. When Edward considered his circumstances he was even more impressed. If silence and a subdued attitude were the child’s way of dealing with grief and danger then he was more adjusted than most Edward had met. All the same, the boy’s way of dealing with his past was not a manner with which Edward was familiar.

He vastly preferred wit and levity in dealing with unfavorable problems and situations, opting to start fights (both verbal and physical) and attack the problem directly rather than drive himself mad thinking it over in his mind.

As such, he found himself trying to draw the boy into conversations or banter when their paths crossed. The most he had gotten for his efforts was a half-smile at a particularly poor joke. Nonetheless, Edward counted it as a victory.

At the moment, the Jackdaw was experiencing a rare moment of peace. Her crew was quiet, lazing about under the sun’s rays with the air of content cats, lazy in the wake of their latest victory and stolen spoils.

Edward drew his shoulders back, stretching the muscles with a soft grunt. The skin was warm under the heated leather shoulder guards he wore, the heat a balm to the sore muscles beneath.

Bracing his elbows between the wheel’s spokes, Edward sought out the newest member of the crew, wondering at how he was getting on.

Although Connor would only be with the crew for a short time ( _five days at their current speed and course_ , his mind supplied) it was imperative that every aspect of the Jackdaw worked well together. Pirate hunters and lucrative cargo bearing merchant ships could appear at a moment’s notice and any discord among the crew stole valuable reaction time. If something threatened that, then it needed to be taken care of immediately and without hesitation.

As it was, Edward had nothing to worry about.

The boy was not needed by Adéwalé for a job and was enjoying a moment’s reprieve before the next task came about. Edward watched from the corner of his vision as the boy crowded against the aft railing, his small form tucked into the corner where the two rails met. The boy called out to the birds circling the Jackdaw and trailing in its wake, hoping for a scrap of food.

He was not the only one surprised at the soft whistles and cries that the boy made in hopes of drawing the birds closer. The boy seemed a natural in their tongue, and as Edward watched a few birds tentatively swooped closer.

“Cabin boy, a moment,” Adéwalé said, waving the boy over. Connor hesitated, brown eyes darting between the few white birds fluttering behind the Jackdaw and its quartermaster. Edward laughed under his breath at the boy’s obvious unwillingness to part with the animals, finding the childish act amusing.

“The birds will still be there when you return, Connor,” Edward said, reassuring the boy.

Connor glanced sideways at Adéwalé and only joined them after the man gave a short nod, confirming what Edward had said.

“Take this to the cook and return with his list of provisions. Be sure to note what we are running low on and what we have to spare,” Adé said, offering a folded piece of paper that was not secured in any fashion.

Edward immediately knew it for what it was: a test. If the boy opened it before handing it off then he would not be worthy of the tentative trust that Adéwalé had placed in him. However, Connor merely accepted the note without fanfare, his fingers remaining stationary on the rough material and belying no intent to open it. Nodding in satisfaction, Edward returned to gazing out over the sea, content in the knowledge that all was well.

And when Connor returned to his previous post at the aft, the birds had remained true to Edward’s word.

***

The next morning found both Adéwalé and Edward situated in the captain’s cabin, pouring over the maps strewn over the wooden surface and calculating the Jackdaw’s route. Edward was still adamant about making a stop at the Keys for a few more goods despite their newest member.

“It would only add another day at most,” Edward argued, not sure why he was pushing for the extended travel. “Hardly worth mentioning to the boy.”

“You said that he would be dropped off at port, Edward,” Adéwalé said. The faint line furrowing between his brows set Edward’s nerves on edge but he knew his quartermaster meant no harm in pushing the matter.

It was a ritual they had done on more than one occasion, testing the other with questions to ensure that the other was dedicated to their course of action and set in their intent. Typically, such an exchange was reserved for assassinations and plantation raids though the matter at hand felt on par with the former.

“And I will honor my word, have no doubt about that,” Edward said, conviction entering his voice with each word he spoke. “The extra haul will do the lads some good and fill their pockets further. It would also allow Connor time to fully plan ahead if he has not already.”

A grin flashed quick as a changing breeze over Adéwalé’s face before he turned thoughtful once more. “Then we best plan our course.”

They exchanged short words over what course to embark on, coming to an agreement with a readiness born from near countless repetition.

There remained only one final matter to discuss. As Adéwalé helped to stack the thick parchment maps back into their chest on Edward’s desk, Edward spoke once more.

“Connor is settling in with remarkable ease,” Edward said softly, the words pushed out under his breath.

“He is,” Adé replied in a tone that gave no hint as to what he was thinking.

“Perhaps too easily?” Edward prodded.

“You think him a spy?” Adéwalé said with no small amount of amusement and Edward felt the beginnings of a flush on the back of his neck.

“No,” Edward replied hastily, uncertain of what he was trying to convey and making a mess of it as a result. It was strange to be at a lot for words when they usually came so readily to his tongue. “Nothing of the sort. He just does not feel as…foreign as I would have thought him to.”

Adé seemed to understand him if his considering nod was to be trusted. His quartermaster spoke after a beat, offering his own opinion, “He works well with the lads, though it might be too early to say why.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to watch him a while longer, see what becomes of it.”

With those words, Adéwalé retreated from the cabin back into the flurry on deck. Edward followed not long after, manning the helm while Adéwalé called out their new course.

With ease, Edward shifted the wheel a few degrees southwest, setting the Jackdaw on a straight line to the Keys and the treasures Edward hoped to find there.

The Jackdaw showed her prowess as she effortlessly cut through the Caribbean waters, the prow parting the waves with ease. Edward allowed himself to be lulled into the comfortable rhythm of sailing, swaying with the rocking motion of the brig when he readjusted their course to avoid the numerous sandbars that dotted the open waters of the Caribbean. Before long, the coastline of Florida loomed off the Jackdaw’s starboard.

The number of sandbars and isles increased dramatically as they neared their target: the southernmost beach of the Keys. From there, they would be able to cover the greatest amount of ground and hopefully find something of value.

Edward had no doubt they would. The number of wrecks off the coast would be open to any brave enough to cross the Spanish patrols in the area, and the Jackdaw and her crew had bravery (and recklessness) in spades.

As they drew closer to the Keys, Adéwalé shouted down to the crew on deck, “Keep an eye out. We don’t want any Spanish dogs catching our scent before we have a chance to rob them blind.”

His call was met with various shouts and calls from the men.

“I take it we’re in agreement, lads?” Edward called out, accepting the various cat-calls as his due for asking when the answer was so obvious.

A land party was formed and outfitted, ready to disembark the moment they weighed anchor. Edward joined the throng of men clustered on deck, eager to stretch his legs on land once more.

Edward glanced back to the helm and paused when he noticed Connor standing beside Adé. An idea formed in his mind and before he had truly thought it through, he found himself calling up to the boy.

“Would you care to join us, cabin boy?”

Said boy startled at being addressed so publically by the captain. Rather than reject the offer as Edward assumed, Connor tilted his head in a considering manner.

“What are you doing?”

“Hunting for treasure,” Edward drawled, unable to resist the cliché true though it was. The boy considered for a moment longer before nodding and scurrying to join the land party.

“Couldn’t resist the call of gold, eh, boy?” Edward teased

“I want a floor that does not move every moment of the day,” the boy shot back, his cheek startling Edward.

Rather than be affronted, the assassin titled his head back and laughed into the bright sun. Truly, the boy was full of surprises.

***

No more than three hours later, the land party found themselves back on board the Jackdaw with a heavy, if slightly waterlogged, chest carted between two crew members.

Pleased that the search had gone so smoothly, Edward found himself in the best mood he had felt in weeks. Two successful raids in so short a time was always something to be proud of, but the fact that Connor—Connor, who hated pirates—had spotted the chest increased his feelings two-fold.

Currently, the boy was back at the aft railing and staring at the ship’s wake as they sailed east to Andreas Island to sell their spoils. Several seagulls shrieked overhead, circling the sails and drawing near to the boy’s slumped position atop the rail.

The image was so similar to the day’s previous that Edward found himself spurred into action to alter it somehow. As such, he found himself calling out to the boy.

“Would you like to learn a shanty, Connor?” Edward’s question startled the boy from his thoughts, and he turned to regard the man with wary curiosity.

“A shanty?”

“A song we sing when the tides are favorable and the winds swift. They keep the crew merry and ward off the quiet that can blanket the sea.” Edward replied, not taking his eyes from the skittish boy. It seemed silly, but Edward drew upon his experience hunting deer and fowl in his approach to the boy: steady movements and direct eye contact seemed to work best. “My men know many and it’s essential for all sailors to know at least one. It’s bad luck to sail these seas without a single song in your throat.”

“Which one would you teach me?” The boy didn’t look quite convinced of Edward’s offer but his willingness to listen bolstered the captain’s attempt.

“Why the very best one!” Edward allowed a small smile to grace his features.

He didn’t usually go out of his way to teach his men the shanties he picked up in towns; often they found them by themselves or simply crafted their own, but for Connor he’d try. The boy was so quiet when he wasn’t poking and whistling at the birds. Even on the island he had said little save for when he noticed the chest caught beneath several rotting planks on the shoreline. A song would do him good and Edward knew just the one. “Randy Dandy-O. ‘Tis my favorite.”

“Really?” the boy asked, walking closer to the captain and peering around the man towards Adéwalé. It amused Edward that the boy looked to his quartermaster for affirmation whenever Edward told him anything. He was learning it seemed.

The Trinidadian man gave a short nod to the child. “Aye, the captain calls for that more often than we’d like at times. We citizens of Jackdaw know it by heart.”

“It’s one that must be sung every week at the very least!” Edward retorted, rising in defense of his favorite shanty.

“And ye’d have us sing it each day if we hadn’t threatened you with mutiny.” Adéwalé looked amused, falling into the easy argument the two often had.

“See what men I have, Connor?” Edward asked and turned towards the younger boy. He hunched over slightly and brought his hand up in an exaggerated movement of secrecy to shield his mouth though he spoke loud enough for both to hear. “Dreadful, the lot of them. But you! I know you’ll love it just as much as I do and together we shall sing it all day, never mind these naysayers.”

The boy let out a soft laugh, the first Edward had heard since pulling the boy aboard. Already his plan was a success. He let his comedic attitude drop but the smile remained on his face as he instructed the boy.

“Alright, repeat after me: Now we are ready to sail for the Horn. Way, ay, roll an’ go!”

Slowly, the two worked through the song, Edward softly correcting the boy and guiding him through the tune pleased at how quickly Connor was picking it up. Soon the deck of the Jackdaw was filled with a strong baritone leading a higher, softer voice along in merry song.

“Timme rollickin randy dandy-o!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Shanties. a lot. so expect those to pop up in the rest of the fic.
> 
> Also the title was inspired by the Bleach chapter "Good Bye Halcyon Days" b/c that's the first place I saw the word. and it's an amazing word


	4. Coming to Port

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jackdaw arrives at Andreas Island's port, bu things aren't as cut and dry for Edward as they had once been.

**IV.** **Coming to Port**

Edward pulled the large brig in close to the island’s dock, pleased that the small strip of wood was unoccupied. Though Andreas Island’s small size and close proximity to Nassau kept the presence of British vessels to a minimum, independent merchants and pirates made frequent use of its dock. The island’s villagers were well acquainted with those who visited their shores, making tidy sums that were kept well off of the books in exchange for hiding the actions of the visiting pirates.

The anchor had just been cast over when Edward noticed Connor climbing out from the deck’s lower hatch. The boy cast a nervous glance towards the island, hands twisting into his strange red belt. The small child shuffled up the stairs to stand next to Edward, his steps growing firmer as he approached the captain and noticed the man’s attention.

Edward waited for the boy to speak, his eyebrow creeping higher the longer the boy stayed silent. At last, the captain could take the silence no more.

“Connor, was there something you needed?”

“We are at port.” Edward’s other eyebrow rose to meet the other near his hairline.

Tentatively he offered: “Aye, we are.”

“Is this An-Andray—“the boy stumbled over the island’s name, brow wrinkling as he tried to remember the name. With a frustrated huff the boy glossed over the term and moved on, “The port you said you would bring me to?”

An instinctual refusal was at the tip of his tongue before his mind could catch up to what the boy was referring to and Edward froze. More than anything, it was the unconscious nature of the refusal that surprised the captain. He could admit, if only to himself and perhaps Adéwalé, that the boy had grown on him over the past five days.

Connor’s quiet nature had finally been peeled away under Edward’s repeated attempts at bonding with the child. His efforts revealed a boy that had a stubborn nature worse than any man Edward had met (except perhaps his own), who sang shanties with a growing frequency, and who had begun to laugh freely with the Jackdaw’s crew. Connor, despite his abrupt arrival and young age, had fit in with startling ease amongst his men, filling a place that Edward hadn’t known to be vacant onboard the Jackdaw.

Perhaps that was why Edward found himself lying.

The man gave a soft laugh to hide his nerves and placed his hands on the brig’s helm to steady them. it did little to stem the uncharacteristic babble that fell from his mouth.

“You’d sooner be able to swim to Kingston then find passage south here. No ship makes port here that’s headed for Kingston. Most head to the northern colonies or Florida—if they’re feeling daring. No, the nearest port serving southern business is on Cat Island. Those, at least, come once a month.”

Connor frowned, mind obviously working through what Edward had told him. Despite himself, Edward felt his anxiety mounting as he waited for the boy to believe his words. Edward could have laughed at himself. Here he was, a man accustomed to lying to men far more shrewd and dangerous by far than Connor with ease and nary a shift in expression, but lying to the boy had slivers of guilt prickling his skin. The captain could only equate the feeling to trepidation.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Selling our latest haul,” Edward replied in a single relieved breath. “I need to barter a bit with the Harbormaster, but the men are taking the goods on ahead. Why don’t you watch a while and see how it is done?”

Finally, Connor nodded and moved away to join the disembarking men. His smaller form melded amongst the larger bodies of the Jackdaw’s crew waiting on the roughhewn deck for their captain.

“It is not often I hear you lie to the men, captain,” the voice came from directly behind Edward and caused the man to jump slightly.

“Jaysus, Adé.” For who else could sneak up on an Assassin but another Brother? “Warn a man, would you?”

Edward turned to face Adé cautiously; the man’s earlier word’s registering in his mind.

“It was only a small lie.” Or not. Andreas Island  _was_ one of the more popular ports in the northern Caribbean, open for those who didn’t want to face the tariffs of the well-established cities or risk Nassau’s harbor—and its pirates. Edward added defensively: “Connor will not know where these ships are headed, and I see no reason to tell him.”

“I thought you intended to leave Connor here?” Adéwalé’s voice did not sound accusatory and a quick glance towards his face belied nothing either.

Edward felt as if his quartermaster was testing him, similar to when Connor had first come aboard: seeking an answer though never stating the question. This time, however, he wasn’t sure he knew the correct response nor what Adéwalé expected him to say. He was left with nothing but the truth, as far as he knew it to be.

“That is…true. I had said so, but I…“ Edward drew his eyebrows together in thought, a small frown pulling the corner of his mouth down. He paused a moment then raised his head, decision made. The frown was gone from his lips and his eyes were clear. “I have changed my mind. I think we could spare a few more days of travel with the boy.”

The Trinidadian Assassin did not react to the news in any obvious manner, merely nodding in acceptance. Edward waited for his judgment to fall and couldn’t help but fell disappointed when the other man said nothing. Whether his decision would turn out to be wise or disastrous, no answer would come from Adéwalé. Instead, Edward would have to see for himself, a prospect that troubled him greatly though he pushed the thought away to join Connor on the dock.

He paused halfway down the stairs and turned back towards his quartermaster.

“Adé, this matter…you’ll keep it quiet, yes?”

The other man let out a bark of laughter, breaking his quiet countenance with a large smile. “Aye, captain. He’ll hear no word of it from me.”

Relieved, Edward waited for his quartermaster to join them on shore before leading the small band of men laden with cargo over the blinding white sands towards the harbormaster’s stall on the island’s northern end.

Connor’s smaller form easily kept up with the men, his eyes blown wide in uncharacteristic wonder as they took in the tropical island and its inhabitants. A local dog approached the group and the boy eagerly pat the animal’s grey fur, delighting in the animal’s happy barks and offering a laugh of his own.

Yes, Edward thought, he had made the right decision after all.

***

The harbormaster stationed at Andreas Island was a large man, his accent being the only thing thicker than his tattooed chest and biceps. Every inch of the man was covered in skin baked a dark tan color from working under the bright Caribbean sun on merchant ships, pirate vessels, and civilian boats alike. Edward had found that it was far faster and more lucrative to barter with the man in his native Spanish tongue than in halting English.

The foreign language slipped easily over the captain’s tongue as he bartered with the merchant over the Jackdaw’s wares and their respective values.

As both a privateer and pirate he had picked up the languages necessary in order to get by—and succeed—in the Caribbean: Spanish, French, Portuguese, and numerous variations of his familiar English. The occasional Dutch or German merchant would wander through the southern ports, but Edward left those encounter to his main Gunner, Özil, who had lived in New York before winding up in a tavern in Nassau some years ago where Edward had recruited him.

Smiling as the negotiations ended favorably, Edward motioned for the men to begin loading the cargo into the small building located off of the Harbormaster’s open storefront.

“Adé, why don’t you and the boys head off to the Inn? I’ll catch you up after I take care of some business.” A quick nod towards the southern end of the island—and its large pigeon coop—had his quartermaster nodding in agreement.

“We will try and save you a drink, captain.”

“With this bunch, I expect you’ll have to fight them off for that.”

With a bark of laughter, Adéwalé and a handful of men crossed the white sands towards the bar just visible beyond the ridge before the harbormaster’s stall. The large, thatched canopy of the Andreas Inn stood out amongst the wooden roofs of the island’s few buildings and towered over the smaller canvas tents pitched on the soft sands surrounding it.

Edward cast a longing glance towards his departing crew before truning to take off down the waterfront. An additional shadow on the ground stopped him.

Blinking in surprise, Edward looked down into familiar brown eyes. Connor stood close to the blonde captain, a few scant inches separating the two. The boy’s small hands grasped tightly to his pants, the scrunching of the soft, brown fabric the only indication of Connor’s unease.

Edward ruffled the boy’s hair and offered a small smile before nudging the boy towards Adéwalé’s waiting figure. His quartermaster had halted a dozen feet away evidently waiting for the Jackdaw’s cabin boy.

“Join up with the other lads, Connor. Help save some of the drink for me, alright?”

The boy hesitated a moment more before tearing off to the other assassin, stumbling slightly in the loose white sand. Adéwalé led the boy off in the direction of the inn, the two exchanging soft words that did not reach Edward’s ears though the sight warmed his heart nonetheless.

Edward himself chose a more indirect route to the southern end of the island, avoiding the crowded main paths in favor of the open stretches of sand that ran the length of the island. The Brotherhood maintained pigeon coop on the island was tucked close to the dock, attached to one of the small huts that dotted the island.

Edward approached the coop at a sedate pace, eyes taking in his surroundings and noting the few islanders loitering around the docks. It was unlikely that a Templar—or one loyal to them—would be on the island but it paid to be wary.

Before opening the small wire door, Edward pursued the coop’s occupants noting the few birds perched on the thin wooden rods with various cases attached to their legs. A large pigeon nestled in the corner of the cage caught his attention, the bird’s bulky figure at odds with its smaller companions.

Carefully he reached into the coop with his left arm, offering his vambrace to the bird. It regarded him for a wary moment before pecking at the armor covering his hidden blade. Edward held still as the bird continued its short investigation, accustomed to the procedure by now. With a quick flutter of its large grey and white wings, the pigeon transferred from the bar to his arm, its talons digging into the thick leather of his vambrace.

With a quick, practiced motion Edward pulled the small message free from the case attached to the bird’s leg.

Oddly, rather than taking off immediately (as most of the Brotherhood’s pigeons were trained to do) the bird remained perched on Edward’s arm.

Eyebrow rising in surprise and no small amount of confusion, Edward unfurled the tightly rolled piece of parchment one-handed:

_Request for aid from Colonial Brotherhood, Boston bureau. Duration of mission unknown. Respond for further information or to accept contract._

The customary sigil had been embossed onto the paper, the sharp indents of the familiar triangle pressed into the bottom right corner denoting its official status.

Though Edward was not keen on leaving the Caribbean any time soon, it never hurt to know the goings on of the Brotherhood in the New World. News regarding the Colonial Brotherhood was particularly useful as their struggles were well known—and shared—by their sister organization further south.

The assassin pulled out a well-worn, square pencil from one of the pouches attached to his belt, leaning over to write a brief message on the reverse side of the paper against the wall of the coop. He pressed the unblemished corner of the paper to the skull ornament on the underside of his Hidden Blade, ensuring that the outline of his mark transferred onto the thin paper.

Though most other Assassins had the familiar triangle on their hidden blades for such identification purposes, Edward’s status as both pirate and Assassin warranted a more unconventional marker. If nothing else, the recipient of the message always knew immediately who had read and responded to the contract rather than having to wait for a completed mission report.

Attaching the letter one handed to the bird took more effort and fumbling than he would have liked, but eventually he managed to roll and insert the tightly furled piece of paper back into the small leather tube.

Mere moments later the pigeon took flight, its wings spread wide as it shot off to the Bureau in Nassau with his reply.

His business concluded, Edward turned to rejoin his crew at the Andreas Inn, eager to step out of the harsh sun and down a spirit or two.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the 'pet animal' mechanic in AC3 and AC4 and was bummed when they cut it from ACU.
> 
> The bar on Andreas is actually called the Andreas Inn according to the wiki page.


	5. New Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a heart-to-heart.

**V. New Son**

Edward paused before the doors to his cabin, taking in his crew as they worked to settle the Jackdaw for the night. He drew up short when he realized he did not see Connor running about the deck. Watching a while longer proved fruitless as he saw neither hide nor hair of the small boy. He paused to think back over the day and the last time he had seen the boy, noting that it had been well before the evening meal when Adéwalé had sent Connor off to talk with the ship’s cook.

He waved over the nearest sailor, hoping for a quick answer.

“Have you seen Connor?” Edward elaborated when he noted the man’s blank—and slightly panicked—look, “The cabin boy?”

The man shook his head but another voice cut in.

“Aye, Capitán.” Edward turned around as another man approached: Moreno one of the Jackdaw’s younger sailors from Havana. He nodded for the man to continue. “Saw him climb up the ladder to the top an hour ago. He should still be up there. He always is around now.”

“He does this often?” Edward was surprised. For a boy as unaccustomed to sailing as Connor was, the climb to the small platform was no small feat even when using the Jacob’s ladder.

“Every day since he came on board,” Moreno said, tugging at his blue headscarf nervously. “I didn’t think much of it, Capitán. I heard no word against it and he stays out of the way of the men. I didn’t see the harm in letting him stay up there.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it. Do you know when he comes down?”

Moreno looked relieved, obviously glad he wasn’t about to be punished for keeping silent on Connor’s actions. He shook his head. “I couldn’t say, Capitán. He’s still up there when the night crew takes over but that’s all I know.”

“Thank you, Moreno. That will be all.” The man nodded before darting off below deck.

Edward turned his attention to the small platform amongst the sails, no sign of a figure visible from his lower position.

It would seem he would have to put sleep off for a while yet.

He walked to the side of the Jackdaw and scaled the shroud, his hands deftly finding purchase on the rope. As he neared the small platform, he could see Connor curled loosely into himself, shivering slightly despite the warm night air. The boy’s eyes, though lowered in exhaustion, flickered over to warily watch the captain’s approach.

Again, Edward was struck by how similar the boy was to a wild deer seconds before it darted away or bird preparing to take flight, wings spread wide but held still.

“Ahoy there, Connor,” Edward said, transferring onto the wooden platform with practiced ease. “I didn’t think I’d find you here so high above the sea. Tell me, what brings the Jackdaw’s cabin boy here so late in the day?”

“Am I not allowed up here?” Connor said, moving as if to unfurl himself from his cramped position. “I will get down.”

“You mistake my words, Connor,” Edward said quickly. He moved to the other side of the mast and seated himself. Connor, who had risen into a half crouch, studied the man for a moment before settling once more on the platform.

“It is not often that I see men up here this late. I might have taken you for an overly large seagull if Moreno hadn’t told me it was you.” Edward offered a half smile to the boy, pleased when one was returned in kind.

“It is quiet here, more than below deck.” Edward could appreciate the thought. Despite his love of the sea and the Jackdaw, there were times when his men could be overbearing if even just by their sheer number. His cabin served as a hiding spot from all but the most important visitors at those times. But, he realized, silence was not all the boy sought and said so aloud.

“Is there something troubling you, Connor?” He had an idea but didn’t want to put words in the boy’s mouth.

“There are these images in my head,” Connor began after a long stretch of silence, long enough that the sun had begun to set and cast the two in fiery hues of gold and amber. “From…that day. They are in my dreams when I sleep. I did not want to see them.”

Edward was at a loss for words, something that rarely happened to the pirate. He didn’t know what Connor was going through, hardly knew what had happened to the boy at all. But he wished to know more about the child and perhaps help him in some way and the only way to do so was to continue questioning him. He knew it would be painful for the child, and he had half a mind to leave the platform altogether as he feared worsening the situation with callous words. But he stayed, mouth opening twice before words finally came out.

“Connor, did your parents die on the shipwreck that sent you adrift?” The words, indelicate though they were, were sincere in their concern.

Connor clamed up at the question, his fingers gripping his knees as only a child would. However, Edward would stand by his question and not back down from the consequences.

“They did,” the words were quiet, barely pushed past the boy’s lips and lost to the air almost immediately. But Edward had heard.

“I am sorry for your loss.” It was a simple statement and Edward was brought back to the last time he had said such words. Just as back then, they felt inadequate and paltry in the face of such sorrow and anger and Edward wished he could say more to comfort the boy.

Though Connor had come to them just six days prior, he already felt like a piece of the Jackdaw, fitting in seamlessly amongst the sea rough sailors. Edward himself felt increasingly fond of the boy and his demeanor. His determination to complete each task no matter how difficult was admirable. It reminded Edward slightly of himself as a boy, though Connor was far more kind and gentle then he’d ever been back in Swansea.

It was because of this that he tried again.

“I cannot say I know what you are feeling and to do so would serve a dishonor to what you are going through. But know that the Jackdaw is here for you, that I am here should you need someone to speak with.”

When Connor spoke again, his voice was fragile and trembling but without the choke of tears Edward feared. It was the voice of a child pretending to be a man in the face of such sorrow and falling short. “ _Niá:wen_ , Edward.”

Though he did not know the word, Edward could guess at its meaning.

“I would do the same for any member of the crew.”

Connor looked up at the man, the shine of his eyes and flushed cheeks bellying his inner turmoil though his surprise came through in the widening of his mouth on an exhaled ‘oh’. The combination of expressions tugged at Edward’s heart, stirring in his chest the desire to protect—an emotion he only felt towards those he considered to be crew or kin by Creed. “You would consider me part of your crew?”

Edward smiled and offered a small nudge to the boy’s shoulder with his own, desperate to change the expression on the boy’s face and inject a sense of levity into their conversation. “Of course! We wouldn’t be telling you all our secrets if you weren’t already locked in. Face it lad, you’re stuck with the Jackdaw from now till the sea ends.”

The boy let out a soft laugh, his wide smile at odds with his red tinged eyes. 

Edward stood and stretched his arms overhead, taking in the night sky. The sun had fallen well below the horizon while the two had talked and the heavy cloak of night had settled over the sea. The deck of the Jackdaw was illuminated by a scattering of lanterns, a few moving as a crew member walked about and did a final check over the deck and rigging.

He turned towards the boy who had risen while Edward gazed over his ship.

“As we have grown fond of our new cabin boy, it would be a shame to see he’d fallen from the top in the middle of the night. Come, it’s time to return below deck.”

“Aye, captain.” 

The words were said with such a sincere voice that Edward almost believed the boy to be serious if it weren’t for the impish smile he aimed at the older man. As he watched, however, the look mellowed out into one far softer. It took Edward a moment to recognize it as a look of contentment. He had never seen such an expression on the boy before and it lightened his heart to see it now.

Edward gave a bark of joyous laughter before herding the boy towards the Jacob’s ladder and sleep.

***

The morning after Edward woke earlier than usual. He lay in his bed and watched the sun’s rays pass through the wide windows at the rear of his cabin. Even with the heavy velvet curtains, the pale morning light slipped through and trailed over his desk in small swaths, denoting the early hour.

Edward closed his eyes, hardly having to strain to hear the sounds of his crew as they awoke and began preparing for the day’s activities. The faint thud of boots against the lower decks’ floorboards signaled that Edward himself had only a few minutes before the first of the morning crew arrived on deck. He would need to hurry in order to beat them there. Adéwalé, he knew, would already be awake and waiting at the helm for his captain to arrive.

He pushed himself up against the mattress, hands sinking into the thick padding before he leveraged himself into a seated position to prepare for the day. Within moments he was dressed in his heavy Assassin robes, the thick leather of his armor a familiar weight on his body as he tugged the vambraces tight against his forearm. He pulled his hair back into its customary tail at the nape of his neck and was out the door before five minutes had even passed.

Edward loved the first steps out of his cabin in the morning; the moments before his crew cluttered the deck and their voices cut through the air in a cacophony of shouts and laughter. Here, in the pale morning light, Edward took in the sight of his ship and the never ending ocean around it. Without the men about, it was as if it was just Edward, the sea, his ship, and endless possibilities.

Smiling, he trod up the short staircase to the helm, calling out to Adéwalé when he saw the man.

“Adé. Up with the sun as usual?”

“Someone has to keep this ship afloat and with her captain sleeping the morning away, I must be the one to see to it.”

“A captain must be well rested if he’s to take care of his lady.” Edward quipped, clapping the man on his shoulder in greeting. “Though, tis true she’d be lost without her quartermaster.”

The lower hatch swung open and the first of the men fell about the deck and in to their positions. The newest sailors were given away by their slow moving feet as they shuffled across the worn wood of the deck. Their older companions called out insults, ribbing the young seamen and getting incoherent complaints in response.

Edward’s pride in his men and their bond always grew during moments like this: when the Jackdaw functioned not merely as a ship but as the country Adéwalé claimed it was.

Amongst the next wave of sailors came Connor, his small form nearly lost amongst the limbs of the older men. The boy pushed past the half-awake men with something approaching ease, ignoring the complaints in his wake as he made it to Adéwalé’s side.

“Good morning, captain, Adéwalé,” he said. Something about the boy this morning struck Edward as odd and it took a moment for him to figure out why. For the first time in nearly three days, Connor was wearing a smile.

Though the boy had smiled before, it appeared fleetingly and never without prior cause. But now, the boy offered the two men a soft smile that spoke of a sense of contentment that had not been there the day previous.

Edward returned the look with a broad grin of his own, making the connection between Connor’s appearance and their talk the day before. “Edward is fine, lad.”

“I thought the crew was not to call a captain by his name?”

Edward saw Adéwalé’s small jerk of surprise out of the corner of his eye and suppressed the urge to grin again. “True. We wouldn’t want the men to think I’m playing favorites, would we?”

“No, captain,” the boy said, his teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to suppress his childish grin, pleased with their banter but trying to hide it.

“I’m sure Adé has an entire list of deeds that need doing, cabin boy. Best you be off.”

Connor nodded before turning to face Adéwalé, listening with rapt attention as the man listed off his chores for the morning.

When the boy had darted down below deck to deliver the morning update to the chef, Edward caught the faint notes of a shanty in a soft soprano drifting over the wind.

After a quick discussion with Adéwalé on the day’s destination and plans, Edward caught himself humming a few, familiar bars. With a grin, Edward called out for the men to pick up the tune and joined in as the men cried out in one voice despite the early hour.

***

The warning cry from the starboard lookout cut through the air, "Pirate hunters captain! Looks like the same ship from yesterday!"

The previous jovial mood was lost as those on deck took in the situation and instinct kicked in. The men fell into battle positions with ease, hardly needing Adéwalé’s commands to do so.

Edward knew he should have taken them more seriously when their red sails appeared on the horizon the day previous. He had written them off, over confident from his recent successes and light hearted mood. Now he would pay for his overconfidence.

“What can you tell me of her?” Adéwalé shouted to the lookout.

“She appears to be alone, sir,” the man hollered back. “No other ships on the horizon.”

“Then they don’t know who they’re chasing,” Edward said, pleased at the turn of events.

“Or they know all too well and have come prepared,” Adé shot back, the reprimand clear in his voice.

“No one ship can take the Jackdaw,” Edward said, sure of each word he spoke. He spared a hand to peer at the incoming vessel from his spyglass, noting that it was a frigate slightly smaller than the Jackdaw itself. “Prepare the mort—“

A barrage of sound and gunpowder silenced his forthcoming command. Mortar rained down on the Jackdaw though a large portion over shot and missed the deck itself.

Edward, with his sight still trained on the incoming frigate off the prow saw the telltale smoke rising from the enemy ship signaling that it had fired upon them. He had not thought the frigate capable of hitting them from so far away and he now had the scorch marks to prove his arrogance.

“Mortars!” and bare seconds after his call, his own attack shot from the Jackdaw’s mortar canons and found their mark. An answering barrage clipped the side of his brig as Edward spun the wheel in hopes of evading any further attack.

“Again!” the second barrage found its mark as the first had and the powerful canons tore through the smaller ship

The exchange, though brief and ending in their victory, had left its mark on the Jackdaw. Though the ship was in no immediate danger of sinking, the damage would slow them down as they moved eastward to the nearest port.

Edward cast an assessing eye over his men in the wake of the attack. He took note of those who needed medical attention few though they were (it was a miracle that none had perished in the surprise attack, a fact for which Edward was grateful), and those who might need a sharp word or two to shake them from their stupor.

One such person stood at the aft railing, watching as the enemy frigate burned atop the Caribbean.

“Connor,” Edward said sharply. “Alright there, lad?”

His tone jerked the boy from his daze and brought his eyes away from the slowly sinking frigate. The boy’s eyes were troubled but they cleared after Edward sent a reassuring nod his way.

“Fine, captain,” Connor said, the faintest tremble belying his words.

“I heard the cook needs help preparing this evening’s meal, perhaps you could help him?” Edward said and the boy looked relieved at the suggestion. 

Connor darted to the hatch, escaping to the darkness of the Jackdaw’s lower decks where there were no sinking ships and haunting memories.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crow's nests as we know them, round enclosed areas at the top of the mast, didn't exist during the Golden Age of Piracy, or at least the term didn't show up until 1807. Instead they had tops, flat things on the main masts for the lookouts
> 
> On a side note, I've had a ton of fun doing research for this fic and I like slipping in those small details.
> 
> Also I take most of my OC names from National Soccer terms. So Moreno is from Spain's, and Ozil from last chapter was the BA from the German National Team in the World Cup.


	6. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality comes crashing in on the barrel of a gun.
> 
> Warnings for Child Endangerment, blood, and violence ahead

**VI. Decisions**

“Ship off the bow, captain!” Edward spun around cursing himself. How could he have paid so little attention to their surroundings? And so soon after yesterday’s disaster from the same folly?

Pulling out his spyglass, he aimed the lens at the fast approaching ship. A frigate. He glared at the British flag flying from its mast before turning to his men.

“Furl in all but the mains and prepare for battle!” his cry was met with several others as his men ran to their stations, all previous merriment forgotten in light of the new threat.

“Captain, do you think that wise?” his quartermaster's voice was pitched low over the hustle on deck. Edward took a moment to breathe, eyes flickering between the deck and Adéwalé’s brown eyes.

“No, but they’re too close to escape from. We can’t risk any attack on the Jackdaw, not the way she is now. We have to fight.” He prayed the ship would hold together long enough if an attack came.

The moments spent waiting were agonizing, the frigate approaching leisurely as it saw its prey slow. Edward could make out the smiling face of Captain Roberts as the British vessel drew even with the Jackdaw. Though both ships were separated by nearly twenty feet of water, both crews could easily distinguish one another.

“I take it you received my welcoming message,” Roberts said, nodding towards the broken railing running along the length of the Jackdaw.

Suddenly, the mystery and oddity surrounding yesterday’s attack made sense and Edward felt a fool for having missed a trap so obvious. Nevertheless, Edward remained silent, refusing to give in to petty arguing when he needed the time to think of a response to the unfolding situation.

“I see you’ve come to your senses, Edward,” the voice droned across the waves, passing from beneath a thick mustache and through yellowed teeth. “Finally realized that boat of yours is no match for mine?”

“Not quite, Roberts. “ The Assassin brushed off the insult and subtly signaled to Adéwalé, his own eyes never straying from the other captain. “Though I’m surprised that dingy of yours can even support your overinflated ego. Truly, I weep for it.”

That was the signal. As Roberts’ face turned a furious shade of red, Edward’s crew exploded into action. The firing deck roared with canon fire and shouts to reload echoed down the deck while men emptied their pistols into Roberts’ stunned crew. The British captain’s face contorted in rage, his red skin shadowed by the billowing smoke from canon discharge.

“Full sail! We’re ramming her!” the order had barely been carried out before Edward began rapidly turning the helm, the wood creaking against the strain he put upon her.

The sound of breaking wood was loud; a sound Edward thought reminded him of breaking bones. His smaller ship rubbed against the larger frigate as boarding lines were cast over the railing of the other ship anchoring the two vessels together. His men streamed onto the enemy frigate, a living water that spread over every nook and cranny of the other boat and swallowed the other men whole.

Edward felt enormous pride as his men seamlessly moved between the two interlocked ships, taking the enemy down in waves. He had taught them well. They showed neither fear nor hesitation when one of them fell, merely surging forward to fill the gap their comrade left. They were devout, their loyalty to their captain and Creed unwavering even unto death.

The sound of battle nearly deafened him: bullets cracking into wood or sinking into flesh as rapiers and swords lunged into arms and stomachs. The tang of copper was palpable in the air, clogging his nose and laying heavy over his tongue. Drawing his own set of twin swords, Edward joined his men with a great cry.

He lost himself in the battle, falling in to the familiar rhythm: a lethal whirlwind as he tore through foes with quick and sure movements. He almost forgot himself, so enraptured was he in killing, his focus dwindling down to those closest to his blades.

A shrill cry reached his ears, high pitched and unrelenting. It threw Edward, clearing his mind instantly like waking from a dream. It was unnatural on the field of battle: a child’s cry where men fought and died. He knew it was none of his own crew, an enemy perhaps. His gaze fell about the deck, seeking out the source. He found it.

His chest tightened and his heart felt as if it had been crushed under the fist of an invisible giant so great was his shock. Amidst the battle, between his men—his tough, hardened, adult men—was Connor. Sweet, sweet Connor who was soft spoken and called out to the birds. Who still dreamt over his parents’ deaths and woke in tears more often than not. Connor, who should have been safely tucked away in his cabin, had been standing on deck when the frigate came upon them. And Edward had forgotten him. His mind was so attuned to battle and death that when a fight came all else fell away.

He jerked into motion, limbs heavy as he ran towards the boy, the wind tugging against his thick robes and slowing him down. A figure moved to block his way and he shoved them aside without a thought, blade biting deep into their throat before pulling free. All he could see was Connor, stumbling about the deck and trying to find a safe place. There were none because  _he was still too far away_ .

“Connor!” the scream tore through his throat, the syllables shredding his tongue until it ached as his heart did. The boy turned, dark hair falling over brown eyes in his haste to find the voice calling out to him.

“Edward!” the boy moved towards him, small legs stumbling over the bodies of dead men as he rushed to the older man. Edward however, wasn’t the only one to hear the boy. A hand shot out and grabbed Connor’s arm, fingers digging into the rough material of the boy’s shirt and bruising his tanned skin.

Connor jerked to a stop his eyes remaining on Edward a moment longer before darting up to his captor.

“Well, what do we have here?” Roberts said. “A little savage brat on a ship? I wonder, Edward, when you started keeping pets?”

Edward jerked to a halt some yards away, eyes trained on the flintlock aimed at Connor’s small head. The metal was close enough to part the ebony tresses. “Roberts, I swear to you, I’ll cut off that hand if you do not release him!”

“Now Eddy, that’s not very nice,” Roberts said, tone dropping into a purr. “He’s only a pet after all. Badly trained by the looks of it. Doesn’t know when to behave.” He gave the boy a harsh shake, ending his struggles. “Looks like you’ll have to retrain the mutt. Or better yet—“

The man cocked the pistol.

“Why not just start over? There are plenty of savages after all.”

A shot rang through the air.

Edward was frozen, hands clenched at his sides and helpless to do anything but watch. Roberts chocked, blood rushing past his lips and settling over his cravat, the white material stained a shining red under his bearded chin.

The man’s pistol clattered to the ground, arm falling from its hold around Connor’s neck. The boy scrambled to get away, small fingers pushing the older man’s body away. That was all it needed.

The dead man’s body fell to the deck with a muffled thud, the sound washing over Edward and startling him into action. He rushed the final steps to Connor and pulled the boy tight against his chest with one arm. He pet the boy’s head with the other, fingers tracing his skull where the flintlock had been, reassuring himself that the skull was still intact.

“He alright, captain?” the Assassin started again, gaze rising to meet his quartermaster’s. Adéwalé. Adéwalé whose gun was still smoking. The man lowered his pistol and walked over to the two, tapping two fingers against Connor’s head.

“You alight there,  _Idi_ ?” the familiar nickname pulled Connor’s attention towards the man. He stopped burying himself into Edward’s chest, raising dark eyes from Roberts’ body to meet the brown eyes of the Jackdaw’s quartermaster.

“Mmm.”

The enemy crew, having seen their captain fall, backed away from the Jackdaw’s crew. Their weapons clattered along both ships’ decks and they raised their arms in surrender, nervously watching the pirate crew.

Edward’s eyes racked over the situation, lingering on the corpses—few as they were—of his own men before regarding the dead man’s crew.

Though Roberts had been a waste of a man who had given more than his fair share of trouble to Edward in the past, his crew had simply been following the orders of their commanding officer. Roberts hadn’t been a Templar, just a captain in the British Navy with a vendetta against Edward after his raids on the surrounding plantations. His crew would be treated with mercy.

“Adé, have the men gather their weapons and cast off the remaining soldiers in their longboat as quick as you can. They’ve caused enough damage as it is and I have little love for their kind at the moment.”

“Aye, Edward. And the men who fell?” Edward’s grip on Connor tightened for a moment, unspeakably glad that the boy hadn’t been among that number. But it had been close, too close for the captain’s liking.

“I’ll handle that, Adé. When you’ve taken care of the soldiers, have the men gather what they can from the frigate’s hold. We’re sinking it.”

Adéwalé left to lead the crew in the clean up after the battle and Edward tugged Connor towards his cabin. His arm tightened its hold on the boy’s small shoulders, trying to shield him from the view of the men who had fallen. He suspected he failed.

***

The day after Roberts’ attack, the Jackdaw was uncharacteristically quiet. The men were subdued in their mourning over the deaths of their comrades. Though the crew was not unaccustomed to the loss of a comrade, it was no more welcome nor uncommon than catching a disease at sea.

Edward knew his men would spend the remainder of the day grieving before moving on, the previous day’s losses added to the growing number of those who had served under Edward and lost their life in the process. To dwell on the fallen would be to invite unneeded stress and sorrow onboard and brew discontent: a state of mind that could—and would—tear the crew apart if left to fester.

Death needed to be compartmentalized and left to those not numbered among the Assassins and their allies.

Edward, as always, felt greatly ill at the ease with which he and his men moved on from loss, however necessary it was. Thankfully (and it was with great shame that Edward thought such a thing), something greater weighed on his mind in the hours following the death of Roberts: the safety of Connor.

The Assassin had hardly slept the previous night, his mind caught in an unending storm of self-doubt and hatred. Hatred towards the men who attacked his ship and the danger it presented to his newest—and youngest—crew member.

The uncertainty he felt bled into the next morning and lasted well into the late afternoon of the following day. It dogged his steps and turned his mood dour, his usual cheer replaced with a frown and furrowed brow. Though his crew noticed his subdued nature, none dared approached him as they feared worsening his state of mind.

What was most striking to Edward was how closely the blonde captain watched over Connor following the attack.

Though the native boy was usually seen in Edward’s presence throughout the day over the past week, it had reached new levels after the attack. Edward rarely sent the cabin boy out on a task over the course of the day and instead kept him close to his side. He knew deep in his mind that he was being overly paranoid but he couldn’t help it, just as the waves couldn’t stop beating against the ship’s hull.

Throughout the day, Edward hardly spoke and focused on sailing the Jackdaw and little else. As hard as he tried however, he could not stop thinking back on the attack and all that had been damaged by both Roberts and himself. The attack had made something abundantly clear: Edward could not protect Connor. The fact haunted his mind, shadowing his every thought and moment of the day. Worse than that was the solution to his problem. It hovered at the edges of his mind but each time it drew closer Edward pushed it forcefully away.

He did not want to think of it. Not yet.

It was only when the last rays of the day fell over the ship’s deck that Edward pulled himself from his internal struggle and spoke to the boy next to him.

“Connor, how about you head below deck with Jackson for some food? I’m afraid I’ve kept you away from the mess hall long enough.”

The boy looked at Edward, his confusion evident to the captain. This was the first time Edward had spoken more than a few words to Connor that day and the subject matter was not what the native boy expected. Nevertheless, the boy nodded and went off in search of the older sailor.

Once the boy disappeared below deck, Edward called for the anchor to be cast overboard and the ship settled in for the night.

He then called his quartermaster to his cabin, demanding the man bring a crate of spirits with him. When the Trinidadian man had arrived, Edward wasted no time in opening the nearest bottle, pulling the cork out with his teeth in his haste. He refused to see it as desperation. He was not a man who relied on such vices—at least not recently.

The two men seated themselves around the round table centered in Edward’s quarters. The captain pushed away the numerous maps and ledgers to clear a space, not caring when they tumbled off the wooden surface to the gently rocking floor.

Edward and Adéwalé settled in, pulling long draughts from their bottles in silence.

The only sounds came from outside the cabin: sea rough voices drifted through the double doors leading out onto the deck as the men settled the ship for the night. Every now and then a shadow would pass in front of the glass windows as a member of the night watch moved about the deck.

Even when the last of the crew retired, silence still reigned between the two men, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

It was Edward who finally broke the silence, hours after Adéwalé had entered his cabin.

“You understand, Adé, why we can’t keep him with us?” Edward asked, tilting the bottle on its edge and slowly rolling it against the table in small circles. His blurry gaze watched the candlight cast shadwos off the revolving bottle onto the dark wood of the table. The crudely blown glass bent the light uneavenly and Edward watched it in fascination before continuing to speak: “Barely a week in and already we bring him to harm.”

He paused to swallow a mouthful of alcohol, the cheap liquor (he could no longer tell what kind) burned his throat and his voice rasped when he spoke again, “A pirate’s ship is no place for a boy, let alone one full of assassins. We ask too much of him to stay.”

The implied solution buzzed incessantly at the back of Edward’s mind as it had for the past day, growing in clarity and strength by the hour. It made him sick.

“The crew will be sad to see the boy gone,” Adéwalé offered. Edward noted that he made no mention of himself in that statement. Later, he would blame it on the rum and bad sense but for the moment Edward felt emboldened enough to ask.

“And you, Adé?”

His query was met with silence, unyielding and tense. With a harsh laugh that sounded more akin to an animal’s cry, Edward tipped the remainder of the bottle down his throat, reaching for the next ere the glass had a chance to reach the table top.

He could feel the alcohol working its way through his system and Edward was aware this was the first time he had been so drunk since—he cut the thought off ruthlessly. Now was not the time for the sad recollections of a foolish man and Edward had no desire to return to who he had once been: a man no better than an animal, a gobshite pissing and wasting his life chasing after wealth that would never be enough.

“Shite, I need more alcohol.” Edward let the latest bottle slip from his fingers to roll of the edge of the table, resting his forehead against the smooth wood. He made no attempt to move. For a moment he just breathed. His chest expanded and fell slowly, focusing on each breath till all else fell away.

Adéwalé was silent on his side of the table and the ocean too was quiet, as if a hush had fallen over the world itself. For a moment he thought he had fallen asleep, caught in the surreal moment between sleep and consciousness. Finally, when he seemed to be losing the battle against both  sleep and alcohol, Edward heard his quartermaster stand and move towards the doors leading out to the Jackdaw’s deck.

It was only then, that Adéwalé answered, “Aye, I would too.”

With that, Edward allowed his eyes to close.

***

Edward awoke before dawn had fully broken.

The inside of his cabin was dark with only the faintest outlines of objects visible in the faint streams of light that filtered through his windows. At some point in the night he had moved to his bed, collapsing onto the blanket after sloppily disrobing. The pounding in the back of his head was dismissed with an ease Edward thought he had lost from disuse.

Mindlessly he donned his armor and Assassin wear, the thick, white and blue robes weighing particularly heavy on his shoulders that morning. In minutes he was slipping out from the behind his door, taking in the early light of day.

The morning sky was covered by clouds painted in muted purples and soft blues, and the barest hint of orange along the horizon signaled that the sun would soon rise. He closed the door to his cabin and took a brief moment to rest his forehead against the glass panes of its windows.

It was only here, before his men awoke and he had to become their captain once more, that he could appear weak. His decision pounded against his skull, barely hindered by his throbbing headache as the two thundered inside his head.

He trod up the stairs to the Jackdaw’s helm, his feet dragging only slightly against the well-worn wood. He stood behind the large gilded wheel and rested his hands between the spokes, fingers slipping easily around the thin bars.

Edward remained behind the wheel, feet planted firmly and calloused fingers digging in to the wheel even as his eyes remained closed.

He did not see the sun rise.

The first men came up through the deck’s hatch some time after the sun had cleared the horizon, stumbling as they woke to begin another day of sailing. It was only then that Edward opened his eyes and released his tight grasp, moving his hands to rest around the wheel’s handles instead.

Adéwalé joined Edward moments later, keeping the surprise off his face at seeing Edward awake so early after a night of drinking when he himself had slept in later than usual. Adéwalé braced his arms against the wooden rail that overlooked the men, turning to look at Edward from his hunched position.

“I’ve decided.”

His quartermaster did not need to ask to what his captain was referring to. The Trinidadian man nodded though a crease began to form between his brows.

“You will tell him?”

“Soon.” The simple word cemented his fate and brought with it wave of resolve. He would not waver, he could not afford to and neither could Connor. The reality of the situation was more than apparent to him now and he knew, just as he knew he had failed the day prior, what had to be done. The truth churned his stomach and nausea that had nothing to do with alcohol lurked at the back of his throat as he waited for his fear to pass. It did not.

“Raise anchor and unfurl everything. We’re headed to Crooked Island.”

As Edward called out the order, his mind drifted back to the letter resting on his desk back in his cabin just feet below where he stood. The parchment was plain and resembled any other letter one might find on the overcrowded desk if a tad smaller than most. The contents however, were damming and had been sealed with a round blot of red wax inlaid with a familiar triangular symbol.

It spoke of a shipment of Brothers preparing to head to the Northern colonies in a week’s time. They were to set sail from Crooked Island and Edward had every intention of sending Connor amongst their number.

Edward was a coward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually the first thing I wrote for this prompt. And that was....a very long time ago OTL  
> So long ago that it was before AC4 even came out.
> 
> 'Idi' translates to eagle in the Yoruba language, the same language Adéwalé's name is from. I figured it fit well with the AC habit of giving its characters bird names. The idea came from this [cool article](http://emotanafricana.com/2013/06/15/whats-in-a-name-a-look-at-yorubas-views-of-some-birds-names-dele-daramola) that talks about the language in relation to bird names. It was an interesting read and I would recommend reading it!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I hope the warnings at the start of the chapter were correct. I'm not used to publishing these types of works so let me know if I need to add more or less.
> 
> Anyway, as always comments or critiques or reviews are amazing!


	7. End Of An Era

**VII. End Of An Era**

By the dawn of the fourth day since Roberts’ attack, Edward's heart felt heavy with both guilt and sorrow.

The men had moored the Jackdaw the previous evening along Crooked Island’s eastern docks while they waited. Only Edward knew what for.

Finally, as the sun reached its peak, another ship—a merchant class brig—sailed into port alongside the Jackdaw.

Onboard, Edward knew, were nearly two dozen Assassins on their way north to the Boston bureau. Just as certainly, Edward knew that Connor would be welcomed onboard the vessel for the duration of the trip.

He had already written a letter, addressed to the Mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood, Achilles Davenport, that he would send along with his Brothers. In it, he asked that the man look after Connor and attempt to send him back to his village if at all possible.

While Edward did not know the boy’s history, he hoped that Connor had a family yet alive back in the north. He knew he asked a great deal of the Mentor, but it was his only chance. Ah Tabai was a great Mentor and his Brotherhood strong, but Edward did not feel comfortable with leaving the native boy alone in the Caribbean. No, Connor would be more comfortable in a familiar setting with his own people, not in the unknown region of the Caribbean islands. All that besides, Edward had many enemies on these seas and any association between himself and the boy would only put the lad in further danger. He would be safer under the protection (and perhaps eventual guidance) of the Colonial Brotherhood.

Edward had thought this out a great deal, leaving no matter untouched or problem unaddressed save for one: he had yet to tell Connor the news.

In the two days since Roberts' attack and the same length since reaching his conclusion, Edward had avoided confronting the half native in hopes that it might sooth his guilt but the opposite had proven true. With each missed moment, the guilt had only continued to grow, tightening his gut with a sense of unease unfamiliar to the Assassin.

And alas, here and now, Edward could no longer delay or avoid the coming conversation. He would have to tell Connor that they would be moving on, but that Connor himself was to remain with the other Assassins and set off alone to the north.

Edward disembarked and called for his men to do the same, noting that Connor too, followed the order.

Just across the pier, one of the Assassins was likewise leaving his ship, heading over towards Edward as soon he stood on the wooden dock.

“Brother, it is good to see you,” the other Assassin called out once he was close enough to grasp the captain’s arm in greeting.

Edward recognized the man as one of the Brothers based in Nassau under Upton, a British fellow by the name of Thompson. The other man’s tanned face was shadowed by his white hood, but his large grin was still visible. Dressed in the traditional attire of the Caribbean Brotherhood, Thompson should have stood out amongst the few villagers present on the dock and Edward’s own crew as both were dressed in well-worn, workers clothing. Despite this, the older man managed to blend in and avoid unwanted attention: the mark of a Veteran Assassin.

“We did not think you, of all of us, would join in this contract. Boston is a great distance from Great Inagua.”

“You have me wrong, mate. I am not sailing north with you.”

The man raised an eyebrow in question. “I do not believe it to be a coincidence that you arrived here in port the same day we did.”

“No, but I have a favor to ask of you.” Edward motioned for the man to join him in a walk around the city’s elevated walkways. Careful to keep the pace slow as to not draw unwanted attention, Edward continued, “While I may not be joining you, I have someone who will: a child.”

The other man was too well trained to physically show his shock at hearing Edward’s words though that did not stop his eyebrows from flying up his forehead in surprise.

“A child? How came you by a child?” Thompson’s incredulous tone made his surprise clear and Edward had to admit that the situation was not one that he had ever thought himself to be entangled in. a child and a pirate assassin, what a strange combination.

“It is a long story, mate. We found him adrift at sea off the coast of Florida eleven days past and brought him onboard. He has been sailing with us since but…” Edward trialed off, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Circumstances changed and it is no longer safe for him to continue on with the Jackdaw. I would ask that you take my word and allow the boy to travel with you.”

“You are aware that our passage will not be safe nor our destination secure. Our Brothers to the north requested our aid for a reason,” Thompson said, though the fact that he didn’t outright deny Edward’s request gave the man a small spark of hope.

“I am, but that is where the boy came from and I would have him returned to his people and whatever family he has left.”

Edward knew, as the man crossed his arm in thought, that he had convinced his Brother enough to secure Connor’s passage. Family, by blood or Creed, was something to be protected.

Finally, the man acquiesced. “What is the boy’s name?”

“Connor. His name is Connor.”

Thompson nodded, lowering his arms as he thought the information over.

“Our ship will not arrive for near a fortnight and we plan to spend the available time preparing for the journey and problems that await us in Boston,” Thompson said. “Do you intend to remain in port until that time?”

“No,” Edward said, mouth pulling into a grimace. “I think it best if we were to make sail today. It would be in Connor’s best interest.”

“And yours?” the Assassin’s words struck Edward and his eyes widened in surprise. He had not thought himself so obvious in his feelings that a stranger (even a fellow Assassin) could read him so easily.

Edward let out an unwilling, “Yes.” before closing off once more. A hand on his shoulder startled him from his silence.

“Have no fear, Brother.” Thompson’s smile had returned, its earlier levity replaced with a gentleness that reassured Edward. “We will see him safely to Boston.”

“Thank you, Thompson. You have done me—and Connor—a great service.” The two men turned a final corner, the eastern docks in view once more. “I plan to explain things to Connor soon. If you could have someone ready to take the boy, I would have them just there, near the northern tree line.”

Thompson followed Edward’s extended finger to the edge of vegetation closest to the island’s clustered buildings. It was an area well used by the town’s population and any who visited the island and the elevated buildings on their stilts provided few places for people to hide, save for those trained in the art of discretion and stealth.

“I will have someone ready.”

“Ah, hold a moment.” Edward said and pulled a wax sealed letter from the inside of his robes, offering it to the other Assassin. “This letter will explain everything—if you would pass it on to Achilles?”

The man took the proffered letter and turned to leave, calling out over his shoulder to the waiting captain, “What is it you pirates say? Fair winds be to you?”

Edward let out a bark of laughter, eased despite the situation. He raised his hand in farewell to the retreating Assassin’s back.  “You’re no pirate, mate, but I’ll take it all the same.”

The captain in turn set off into the village to find Connor and break the news. He had held off long enough.

***

He found the boy near the town’s inn, the Crooked Island Cantina, petting a brightly colored scarlet macaw through the iron bars of its cage. The sight reminded Edward of a few days prior when the boy had gathered a small flock of seagulls near the aft railing of the Jackdaw.

The boy had been so excited to see the birds that he had nearly fallen from the rail when a sudden gust had jerked the brig forward. Edward had not been the only one to lurch towards the boy in fear.

Pushing the fond memory away, Edward called out to the lad, “You’re a far ways from the water, wreck-boy.”

Connor pulled his fingers from the cage, grinning up at the captain in delight. “They have such strange animals here; the birds near  _Kanatahséton_ do not have such bright colors. How do the other animals not see them?”

“You would be surprised at how well they blend in on the islands,” Edward said, unable to keep the fondness from his voice. “The Caribbean may be a colorful place but you’d be hard pressed to find an animal that could not hide amongst the trees and plants.”

The boy cast a doubtful gaze towards the captain causing the man to laugh.

“Come, I’ll show you.”

The boy scampered after the retreating captain, catching up to the man as they worked their way through the twisting pathways of the village.

As Edward led the way to the island’s north end, he attempted to gather his nerve for the coming conversation but the tree line appeared all too soon for the captain’s liking.

Walking across the hot sand, Edward cast a gaze over the open area. The small section of beach behind the stilted houses on Crooked Island was occupied by wooden tables in various states of repair and miscellaneous crates and barrels long since emptied of their cargo. A resting ground for the islanders and pirates alike, it was, thankfully, unoccupied for the moment.

Nearly unoccupied, Edward amended mentally as a figure in white ghosted closer on the edge of his vision. He tilted his head in acknowledgment to the woman hidden under the last set of stilts, her familiar white dress and short red sash identifying her as a novice assassin.

Edward brought his attention back to the boy peering intently into the thick foliage on the outskirts of the village.

He could give them one more conversation before he told the boy.

Aware of the Sister waiting behind the pair, Edward walked over to the boy and pointed into the trees. “You see? It may be colorful but it is so dense all but the largest of animals could stalk their pray with ease. Wait a moment and you might see.”

Next to him, he felt Connor freeze, becoming so still Edward might have forgotten he was there. He wondered if the boy had hunted before.

Switching over to his second sight, Edward glanced carefully into the thick bushes clustered a dozen yards away. He was rewarded a few minutes later when a small, bright green lizard darted out from the cover of the bushes. Suddenly, a great flurry of movement brought their attention to a nearby tree as a hawk dropped down from a branch to neatly catch the lizard in its beak.

Connor’s gasp was all Edward needed to know that the boy had not even noticed the bird before it had attacked.

“You were right!” Connor said, stepping closer towards the bird and scaring it off.

“Years of experience, Connor.”

With that, Edward let the conversation die out and let silence reign. He could not say how long he waited as Connor continued to gaze into the jungle, merely allowing himself to exist for a moment before he had to talk with the boy. It was only when he heard a small tap of a blade against wood that he remembered the Assassin waiting behind him.

While Thompson had most likely not disclosed the exact nature of her mission, she undoubtedly knew that it was time sensitive and had chosen to remind Edward. Cursing her in his mind, Edward took a breath and called out to the boy.

"Connor, a moment."

Quickly, the boy returned to Edward, gazing up at the captain with an open, questioning expression on his face.

The entire exchange felt like a pin driving into his heart. The boy’s actions and expressions were so different from how they had been less than a week ago that the change was startling. It drove a shred of doubt into Edward’s mind over his course of action.

He ruthlessly tampered down on the emotion. He could not afford to waver now.

Edward settled the boy on one of the benches placed along the tree line, taking care to angle the boy away from the waiting woman. Nervously, Edward kneeled in front of Connor and gripped his hands before forcing himself to let go. If he were to break the news, he would need to begin letting go now, physically and mentally.

Withdrawing his hands, he instead gripped the thick cotton material of his beeches. Settling his weight on his heels he took a breath and spoke.

"Connor, what I am about to say, you may not take it well, but I ask that you listen and take it to heart.

"Several of my colleagues are here on this island waiting to make sail in little more than a week's time. They are making north, back to the British colonies to meet with a man named Achilles Davenport. "

The boy nodded along though his confusion was evident in his furrowed brow and downturned mouth.

"You will be going with them."

"...What?"

That single word, spoken after minutes of silence, held a world of heartbreak and confusion.

"I have thought a great deal on this and find it to be the best solution. I know it may seem sc—“

"I do not understand," Connor broke through, voice raised in agitation and no small amount of fear. The boy's hands fluttered nervously, small fingers skittering over his legs. "Why...why are you telling me this? Have I not been a good cabin boy?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just-"

"Then I do not understand! You said that I was a part of the crew, a part of the Jackdaw." The boy's face steadily turned ruddy, though his eyes remained dry. A small part of Edward was thankful for that as he did not know how to comfort those who lost themselves to tears.

"Aye, that's all true but you must understand, Connor, the Jackdaw is no place for a child. Who we are—who _I_ am—places you in too great a danger."

"You said that I would be with you until the end of the seas," spoken quietly, the words were a knife straight to Edward's heart and already faltering conviction.

What harm would it do, to let the boy continue sailing with them? To become part of their family?

Roberts' vicious grin and raised gun flashed in his mind and Edward was made all too aware of the danger it posed. He could not protect the boy even for a week. The lifetime Connor sought was impossible and would prove to be his end. Edward would not place this boy, this child, into such harm. He had a chance at a real life, a peaceful life, far away in the land where he had been born.

With that thought, Edward steeled himself.

"This is the end of our sea, Connor. I am sorry."

The man stood and gestured over his waiting Sister, allowing the woman to take Connor’s hand as the boy had followed Edward and jumped from his seat. The boy tugged his hand free (though Edward suspected his Sister allowed the move) and threw himself at the captain in desperation. The emotional action was unlike any other that Connor had made since coming onboard the Jackdaw. The boy was usually in control of his actions and measured each movement carefully before committing to a course of action. This desperate move surprised the captain as well as increased his own heartbreak.

Edward allowed himself one moment of weakness. He pulled the boy in close into a one-armed hug, strong fingers digging into the boy’s shoulder. In return, Connor held tightly onto the man, fingers wrapping around the red tails of Edward’s sash. Edward ignored the growing wetness he felt against his stomach.

"I am sorry, Connor. Truly, I am." He pulled away, his backward movement halted for a moment before Connor let the red fabric slip from his fingers, severing the link between the two. "Goodbye."

With his final parting message, Edward walked away, ignoring the small sounds of Connor attempting to follow. He knew his Sister would keep the boy back but a small part of him wished she hadn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things weren't as clear as Edward thought.
> 
>    
> So that T rating is in full effect for the remainder of the story. T for violence, threats, swearing, death, the like. Just so you all know. And it might go up to M for that.

**VIII. Revelations**

The Jackdaw sailed into port at Salt Key Bank, the small fishing village’s docks dwarfed by the large Brig.

Edward called for the anchor to be dropped and stepped onto the dock to barter with the local harbor master. The man was amicable enough about buying pirated goods and the two exchanged rapid words in Spanish over the value of the sugar Edward wanted to sell.

Agreeing to the man’s terms, Edward offered a brisk nod before waving towards his crew. The men, having waited for his signal, started unloading their goods, eager for a chance to stretch their legs on land after the past several days on sea.

After assigning the watch and ignoring the mumbled complaints, Edward headed towards the tavern and the promise of a drink or ten. His own private stores had been depleted since his last drinking session with Adéwalé in his cabin over a week ago. The memory sent a pang to his heart and Edward quickly brushed it off before it could grow and drown his senses in misery.

Salt Key Bank was one of the larger islands in the region, built up in layers of wooden pathways and tall tiered buildings nestled between the vibrant greenery of the island. The tavern was located at the top of the cliff and it took a little navigating to reach as the twisted pathways of the island confused all but the locals. With half a mind on his surroundings, Edward ambled up the weather beaten stairs, the local Bar-maid’s song reaching his ears long before the actual building came into view.

He jostled his way to the bar-keeper and singled for a bottle of rum, placing a few coins on the alcohol stained counter in exchange.

Seated in the tavern, he let the voices of the other patrons wash over him, the easy exchanges in English, Spanish, and the occasional bout of French melding together as his eyes fell to half-mast. They darted open for a moment when a chair was pulled up to his table but closed once he recognized Adéwalé’s familiar form.

The Jackdaw’s captain and quartermaster drank in silence, the act so familiar to that other night that Edward felt his heart grow tight as the atmosphere between the two men grew tense.

A loud and rough exclamation brought him out of his revere as his mind caught on to what was being discussed at the table next to him.

His eyes settled on the men clustered around a small round table, noting their greasy faces and red sea-salt dried hair and weather beaten clothes. One man, dressed in a slightly nicer pair of cotton breeches and a large black wool over-cloak, slammed his hand down against the wooden table top. He leaned closer towards his companions and his voice rose once more.

“-And then, by the grace of God, we saw it. Sittin’ there on the horizon just waitin’ t’ be taken: a French beauty with her sails at half-mast. So’s we put her in our sights and charge straight on and you know what she does?”

“Wha’ Capt’n?” The man, evidently a captain though Edward thought the title too fine for such a man, continued with a growing smirk.

“She runs! I tell you I ne’er seen a warship run so fast in me life when she had the canons to blow us outta the water. But you don’t get nothin’ outta life by runnin’ and that reward was so close I could taste it. So I tell my men to fire on her and she jus’ takes it!” The man laughed loudly before calming down and continuing with his bragging, “We fire on her and she’s slowin’ down, limpin’ at this point to try an’ get away and only then did she fire back. We gained on her right quick, her name bold as brass right in fron’ of me eyes: Aquila."

The name was like lightening, striking Edward where he sat and setting every nerve in his body on edge. His ears filled with a strange ringing as he shoved away from his table. He was dimly aware of Adé standing as well but his attention was on the pirate still spewing bilge from his mouth. His fist curled in anticipation.

“Oy!” with that Edward attacked, knuckles digging into the man’s face as the surprise and force of the blow knocked the man off his chair on to the floor.

With an affronted roar the man stood up and ordered his men to attack though Edward paid them no mind. Leaving the others to Adéwalé, he charged the captain once more. The two pirates exchanged blows, Edward slowly driving the man off the tavern’s porch with a series of quick punches. The last hit dazed the man just long enough for Edward to gain the advantage.

As the other pirate stumbled back, the assassin drove his shoulder into the man's gut, winding him and leaving him open. Edward wrapped his arm around the man's gut, clenching the muscles in his forearm and shoved the man backwards. The pressure on his gut forced the man to stumble backwards and Edward kept pressing him further away from the deck. Without a moment to recover, the man found himself dragged him around to the back of the building.

Edward slammed him up against the wood, his fingers digging into the man's cheap coat along his shoulders.

“Wha’s your problem, mate?” the man said, struggling wildly to get away from the enraged captain. In response, Edward jammed his knee into the man’s gut before shoving him against the wall once more.

“You attacked the Aquila. Why?” Edward said, his tone quiet and deadly, his rage barely contained. This man, this pathetic excuse for a captain—and how the word tasted foul in Edward’s mind—was responsible for the attack on Connor, was the one who had caused the little native boy such pain. In a small part of Edward’s mind, he knew that attacking the pirate wouldn’t help Connor, but how could he let the man run his mouth when he knew what his actions had wrought?

“O’ course I did!” the man said, terror slowly slipping into his voice in the face of Edward’s anger. “You think I’d make it up-“

Edward slammed the man against the tavern wall once more. From the corner of his eye he saw Adéwalé approach them, a small bit of blood on the corner of the man’s lips the only indication that he’d just been in a fight. The other Assassin stood off to the side, a menacing presence as he glowered at the captive man. Edward was thankful for the silent show of support and returned his attention to the now quivering male in front of him.

“Why did you attack the Aquila?” The man remained silent and Edward felt his temper flare. “Speak dog, or I’ll cut off fingers till you do!”

The bluff—and the fierce expression on Edward’s face—had the man talking.

“We was paid ta! Some bloke in Havana was off’rin’ a migh’y sum t’ take down a ship called the Aquila and all passengers. Went round to all the crews docked and gave 'e, the same offer. We was just lucky enough to get it done first.”

The news unsettled Edward.

Bounties weren’t unheard of within the Caribbean. It was pirates more often than not who took the offers for the promise of coin, attacking their targets with vehemence in order to increase their reputation. Edward himself had taken a few in the past before he joined the Brotherhood. Though he had since abstained from taking any on, he didn’t condemn those who did. But this was about the Aquila, about Connor, and Edward could not abide the man’s words.

“Who was the man?”

“Shite, I don’t know. I never seen him ‘for!”

“If that’s all you know then you’ve outlived any use you might have for me.” Edward withdrew and cocked his gun, lowering the pistol towards the man’s gut. “I know much better liars than you. I would not try my patience further. Understand?”

“Christ sake’s man, it was jus’ a job. What do you care?”

“That was not what I asked. It seems, Adé,” Edward continued, glancing over towards his quartermaster, pressing closer towards the captive man. Drawing his gun level against the man’s temple. “That this man is being deliberately unhelpful. Maybe there’s something stuck between his ears that we can help clear out.”

“Fuck, I don’t know!” the man cried, the acidic smell of his fear wafting in the air. “The fella didn’ say nothin’ like that. I heard some other fellas callin’ him a knight, but Jaysus, I though’ they were jus’ talkin shit. Now lemme go, man. I swear, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong by you.”

Tired of the man’s incessant wailing, Edward cracked the barrel of his gun over the man’s head, leaving a welt across his forehead and sending him into unconsciousness.

“Useless poxed shit,” Edward said, barely restraining the urge to kick the downed man.

“Captain, it’s no use beating on the man, “Adéwalé said, placing a restraining hand on his captain’s shoulder. “He’s no use to us now and fighting won’t help us any here.”

“You’re right Adé, I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“I understand, Edward.” The man gave a quick squeeze to Edward’s shoulder, ensuring that the captain felt it through his leather armor. “But our answers lie in Havana, not with this man. This mentioning of knights has me worried though. You don’t think-?”

“Oh I do, Adé,” Edward said, cutting his friend off. “This cowardice reeks of the Templars. The fact that it came from their nest of snakes isn’t reassuring either.” This time he couldn’t quell the urge to kick the downed man, his leather boot digging into the man’s stomach.

“I’ll ready the ship then. We’ll leave on your mark, captain.”

Edward offered the man a tight smile, glad that his quartermaster could remain calm and even headed when his own mind was spiraling in rage.

“Thank you, Adé. I’ll meet you onboard the Jackdaw once my blood has cooled some.”

His quartermaster nodded and set off towards the anchored ship, the only indication of his own anger in the tight line of his shoulders.

Edward took a moment to breathe deeply, holding the air in as he gazed up at the blazing noon sun, his anger slowly falling away. In its place however, was a niggling sense of fear that was ready to fly into full blown panic at the slightest provocation. He welcomed it, holding tightly to the emotion as he set off towards the Jackdaw and answers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was intense. also, please let me know if T is not the appropriate rating for this story. I'm on the line about it b/c AC is an M rated game but my story doesn't have as much violence/blood/death in it but it still contains those elements.
> 
>    
> Thank you for the lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks! It's really amazing to have people like your work, makes the panic of posting it so much easier to deal with.


	9. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ugly truth comes to light.

**IX. Answers**

The afternoon sun blazed overhead, beating down on Havana and the multitudes of people streaming along its docks and beaches. Edward deftly steered the Jackdaw into one of the more crowded ports, the Brig’s form just one of many amongst the other merchant vessels. Adéwalé called to weigh anchor and the crew disembarked once Edward gave a sharp nod. The captain motioned for his quartermaster to come close before he began to speak in a quiet murmur.

“Adé, I’m going to move about the town, see what I can get from the crowds and my contacts. I need you to head to the Bureau and check in with Rhona, and see if she has any information on the local Templar movements. We’ll meet at sunset outside the gates of Morro Castle to share what we’ve learned.”

“Aye, captain,” his quartermaster said and joined the teaming throngs of people clustered on Havana’s docks, melding effortlessly with the crowd. Edward ordered the remaining crew members to keep a sharp eye out and to be wary of any who wandered too close to the ship. Havana may have been a Spanish settlement, but it belonged to the Templars and both groups had reason enough to attack the Jackdaw.

Reassured that his men were prepared, the Assassin set off into the city at a slow pace waiting to catch any information on the attack.

***

Nothing.

Hours spent walking amongst the crowds along the docks and markets with nothing to show for it. As it was, there were only a few pirates docked in the city at the moment and all swore they’d never even heard the name Aquila before (a fact Edward highly doubted, but no amount of violence had changed their answers so he figured whatever they knew wasn’t anything more than that shit captain).

At the moment, he was seated close to the northernmost docks on a bench within sight of the stone fortress, elbows braced on his knees and his head hanging low in defeat.

The Caribbean sun was setting, drenching the port town in soft shades of orange and fiery reds as their appointed rendezvous time drew near. Adéwalé should be heading over to his location soon. And Edward had nothing. He only hoped Adé had better luck with Rhona and her contacts or the day would have been a complete, and unacceptable, waste.

“Edward.” The sound of his name drew his head up from its lowered position, his blue eyes alighting upon the form of his quartermaster standing just off the bench. Giving a resigned sigh, Edward pat the space next to him.

“Adé, tell me you have news?”

The man settled down on the stone bench, feet flat against the dirt path and ready to spring in to action at a moment’s notice: an Assassin’s stance. Edward himself was braced in much the same way, uneasy being so close to a Templar base.

“Not much, captain. Rhona says there hasn’t been any more Templar activity than usual though that could mean anything here in Havana. The order might have been one of a dozen for all we know.”

“The lack of information has me thinking otherwise. They usually can’t get their underlings to keep their gobs shut but I haven’t heard a word, Templar or otherwise. It’s not right-something’s not right.”

The Trinidadian Assassin let out a soft hum in agreement, his brown eyes tracking the people moving around nearby, few as they were. The two watched in silence a moment longer before Edward slowly rose from the bench.

“We should call it a day, Adé. There’s not much else we can do when there’s nary a soul out at the moment. We’ll have better luck—“

Edward broke off, his gaze caught by a small group of soldiers leaving the front gate of Morro Castle. His second sight automatically read the men. The four men shone bright red, the vibrant shade reserved for Templars as opposed to the duller red of common soldiers. The Templars ambled down the road, their voices easily drifting through the evening air and reaching the Assassins’ ears.

“You hear, Marcos? The Commander says the deed’s been done,” one soldier said, his bright yellow coat giving away his low ranking status. His younger comrade however, didn’t look convinced. “It’s true! Two weeks past now.”

Edward’s attention was piqued. The men could be talking about any number of things, but the mention of the time period was the best clue he’d heard all day. His gut told him these men knew something and he had always trusted his instincts on such matters.

He subtly motioned for his quartermaster to rise and began to follow the small group, sticking close to the few people on the street and the sides of the buildings.

“How does he know the pirate’s not pulling one over on him? Wouldn’t be the first time a pirate lied about a job.” 

“Heard it straight from Captain Rogers himself when he was here last week.”

“I remember that,” the third man piped up, grimacing slightly. “A bit of a crazy codger wasn’t he? Kept going on about it at the meeting. That was the only timed I wished I hadn’t been assigned guard duty to one of the Higher up’s meetings.”

“What did he say?” the second, younger guard said. The first man looked slightly disgruntled that he’d lost the attention of his peers but he too leaned closer to hear the story.

“Well after a load of prattle and self-congratulation, he said he heard the pirate’s claim and sailed out quick as you can to see the wreck. He said it wasn’t anything more than a smoking pile of timber sinking into the sea when he arrived but he could still see the name, Aqui-“

“Quiet!” the fourth and oldest member of the group hissed, finally joining the conversation. He made a quick cutting motion with his hand, his heavy grenadier coat moving from the force of the action. “You know our orders; we’re not to mention it.”

“Lay off it, Augusto,” the first man said, the group turning off the main road and into a side alley. “It won’t hurt nobody now that it’s all over.”

Edward spared a quick glance towards Adé, nodding towards a nearby pile of cargo stacked against the nearest building. The message was clear: _follow them from the rooftops_. Quickly, the two Assassins scaled the building, crouching low as they followed the men from above.

“I didn’t think the orders would work though, to be honest,” the third man said as he shook his head in disgust.  “And it’s not fitting. Templars relying on those Monkeys for a job.”

“It’s not relying, it’s using—manipulation,” the first man said with a smug smile on his face. “Pirates are nothing but dogs; they’ll attack whatever they’re told providing you wave enough gold under their noses. Better they suffer the losses than our Order.”

The third man laughed. “True! Those animals, no sense of pride or honor, and tripping over one another for the reward.”

With that, the two men separated from the group and walked off, laughing as they continued their conversation.

The two remaining men however stayed in the alley a moment, the older man—Augusto, Edward remembered—shook his head after the retreating pair.

“Fools, those two.” his younger companion darted a glance his way in surprise.

“Sir?”

“If they had any wits they would keep their mouths shut. There’s a reason the Commander ordered us to keep our silence over this matter.”

“But why, sir? Sergio does have a point. Why should it matter if the order has been carried out?”

“Because the job isn’t finished yet.”

“What?” the younger male looked aghast, eyes widening in bewilderment. “But the ship—“

“Oh don’t worry about that. The Aquila is resting on the bottom of the Caribbean floor, what’s left of it that is. Pirates have a knack for destroying anything that sails on this sea. It is the only thing they _are_ good at to be honest.”

“So then why can we not speak of it? If the ship is truly gone and _that_ manalong with it—“the stressed nature of the word drew Edward’s attention and he wondered just who ‘he’ was. “—then why the need for such secrecy?“

“It’s as I said, the job is not done.” and with that, the older man strode off, rounding the corner and disappearing from view. His companion stared a moment longer at his back before darting after his long departed comrades.

Edward shifted closer to the edge of the roof, keeping the older grenadier in view.

“I think, Adé,” Edward said lowly, his second sight burning the red of the Templar into his vision long after he had relaxed the ability. “That we might have our answers yet.”

The two men took off silently across the roofs, tailing the man as he walked through the district, his final destination a mystery to his two ghosts.

Patiently, the two Assassins trailed the man through the city waiting for their chance to strike. Unfortunately for the soldier, such an opportunity came when he wandered through a tight alleyway.

Motioning with two fingers, Edward signaled his Quartermaster closer and pointed down towards the approaching man. No words were needed as the Assassins worked together to cut the man off, breaking off to stand on either side of the alley as they waited for the man to walk between them.

Crouched against the edge of the roof, Edward timed his jump perfectly with the slowly approaching man and landed right in front of the soldier.

The man, though startled at Edward’s sudden appearance, was well trained enough to jump back and gain space between himself and the blonde pirate. However, Edward had anticipated such a move as had Adéwalé. Just as the older soldier began to reach for his rapier, the Trinidadian assassin landed behind him and caught his hands in a strong grip.

The Templar gave a short shout in surprise and opened his mouth to yell louder, possibly for reinforcements or aid from nearby patrolling soldiers.

Adéwalé was ready for such a move and shoved the man against a nearby building, his dagger a mere flash as it was unsheathed and pressed against the soldier’s throat.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the words were quiet and calm, Adéwalé’s deep voice the only sound in the alleyway.

“Unhand me, dog!” the man said, lip curling in a snarl.

“Did you not hear him?” Edward said, calmly approaching the two men. “He said to shut your fucking gob before we fill it with shot.

“Now we have questions that need answers and you are going to give us them, understand? Mind, it’d be better for your health if you answered us honestly and quickly.”

“I’m not telling you anything. Call your Buck off and I might be persuaded to save you from a long neck.” Adéwalé pressed the dagger closer for a moment, the blade pressing into tanned skin as the man’s breathing sped up.

”We heard you talking about a hit on the Aquila, mate, and we’d like to hear more of that story.”

The man’s eyes widened in realization before narrowing into a glare. “You’re too late, _Pirate,_ ” the word was spat out like a curse. “One of your kind already finished the job and claimed the reward. You’re wasting your time, but oh.” And here the man’s smile grew mocking.

“Did you try for it and fail? Too incompetent, pirate, to take out a single ship? That hardly comes as a surprise. After all, most of you lot are just Monkeys playing at men.” Edward wasn’t amused at the man’s attempt to cow him.

“If I were you, I’d think carefully on the situation here, Templar.” the man jumped at the address and regarded his captors with a new sense of wariness. Good. Let the man finally realize how serious the situation was; just who his captors were.

“My friend here could just as easily kill you as not and the only thing that is staying his blade at the moment is what you know. Should you prove uncooperative much longer, we might just kill you and move on to one of your friends. Sergio, I believe it was, seemed to know enough and men’s wits have a tendency to grow under…let’s call it duress and leave it at that.”

The man fell silent and Edward took that as consent. “Who ordered the attack?”

“You think I’d tell you anything about our Order? You whose sole job is murder, inciting chaos on these islands without thought to the repercussions to your actions?”

“I did not come to debate with you. Just answer us and you may yet live long enough to crawl back to your masters with your tail between your legs. Let’s move on to another question then, seeing as how I’m in such a forgiving mood. Why order the attack on the Aquila?”

“What, you Assassins don’t know? I thought you better informed than this.” Adéwalé, evidently having enough of the man’s attitude, pulled his fist back and drove it into the Templar’s nose. The loud crack of cartilage giving way was nearly drowned out by the man’s wail of pain.

“This is your last shot, you fucking Lout,” Edward said, his control snapping from a brief moment. His anger and visage startled the Templar, the man’s face growing fainter with each second. “Why attack the ship? What did your Order stand to gain from sinking one ship?”

“To kill that man!” the man’s self-preservation skills finally kicked in, the words jumping from his throat in a shout. A warning shake from Adéwalé brought his volume down as he continued. “Rogers ordered a hit on the Aquila: 5,000 reals for whichever pirate could sink it and all on board. We had it on good Intel that Kenway was onboard that French vessel, and that he had been for the better part of a month. We saw our chance and we took it to finally rid ourselves of _that_ man.”

Again, the inflection caused Edward to pause though now he had a name to go along with the obvious derision. His own. His thoughts swirled around in his head, feverishly trying to sort out the implications of his name being used before it struck him. Kenway, Haytham Kenway. His cousin or so his mother said.

Edward himself had never met the man, knew him only from his mother’s odd comment on his “gentile nature” and the murmurings his introduction into the Brotherhood had caused. Haytham Kenway was a well-known Templar, listed as one of the higher ranked members within the Colonial Rite. Those in the Caribbean Brotherhood knew his name as a potential candidate for Grand Master in the northern colonies, but that didn’t make sense.

“Speak sense, man. Kenway was one of you, a Knight at that. Why order his death?” If Edward could just get the man to say more, he was certain it would all make sense. The murky images of Connor, the fate of the Aquila, and Edward’s own mysterious cousin were swimming around his mind but he lacked the final key to connect them all together.

“Because he was a fucking traitor!” here the man paused to spit at the ground, derision clear in his voice as he lost control over his emotions. “Betrayed our cause, our Order. He turned his back on his brothers for his own selfish desires and for what? Some savage whore and her half-breed son?”

“So that’s it?” Edward could barely contain his anger. Haytham may not have been a close family relation, but family mattered in a world where everything else could be tainted and shattered, where a friend could look you in the face and smile while driving their dagger into your gut. No, family was all one had in the world, be they by blood or by creed. “The man wanted to have a normal life and you killed him for it? Him and everyone else on board that ship?”

“Collateral damage. For the future of the Templar order in the New World and for our pursuit of order for all of mankind, he had to die.”

“Do you even hear the words that fall from your mouth?” Edward said, growing angrier by the moment. “You’d condemn a man to death for the ‘greater good’ of your fucking Order?”

The man, rather than grow enraged at Edward’s words, seemed to calm himself, drawing in a breath before continuing.

“How can we profess order and be a guiding hand for all if our own leaders betray us and leave mankind to its own devices? How could we allow one of our own to value freedom over the world we seek to create—the perfect world? We can never obtain such a thing if one of our leaders can’t even commit himself to it.”

“You fucking rat!” Edward said. “You’d damn a man for his freedom when you should do nothing but praise him for it.”

“We do not regret our actions. The man and his family had to die and we would give the order a thousand times over if we had to.”

That brought Edward up short. “His family?”

“Of course. You think just killing the man would be enough? No, he needed to learn a lesson and we found the best messengers for it. Unfortunately one got away but there’s no need to worry.  Rogers will see to it that the last of that man’s line is brought to an end. I only hope he fell regretting his betrayal with his last breath.”

That was the third time Edward had heard “Rogers” tonight but the name was unfamiliar to him. Before he could muse on the name further the man’s words registered. Involuntarily he took a step back, gazing at the Templar in shock.

“You intend to kill the boy.” It was a tactic that would never occur to an Assassin even at their darkest moment. To kill a Templar agent was one thing, to kill their family another. It was madness, plain and simple.

With that final thought, Edward broke from his stupor and lunged towards the man still held captive by his quartermaster. With a cry he thrust his hand forward, hidden blade extended and gleaming in the moonlight. It wasn’t necessary; Adéwalé had already seen to that.

The Trinidadian assassin withdrew his dagger from the dead man’s throat and stepped back from the falling body. He took a moment to close the man’s eyes and offer a small prayer before addressing his captain.

“Edward-“

“Goddamnit!” Edward said, retracting his blade and dragging a hand through his blonde hair. “Those bastards! Those utter fucking bastards.”

“Captain, if what this man says is true than Connor might be-“

“I know!” Edward snarled, anger rising for a moment and clouding his senses. He continued, and softened his voice in apology. “Christ Adé, I know. Those cowards, taking out an entire ship to get after one man.”

Edward took a moment to compose himself then addressed his quartermaster.

“Adé, recall the men. We’re leaving for Crooked Island quick as we can.”

“Aye, captain.” The tall man strode off, the night swallowing up his darker figure as Edward continued to swear over the body of the soldier.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buck was used in AC4 and it was/is an offensive term. Don't use it.
> 
> And more OC names from soccer teams (yaay)
> 
> Also, I bumped up the rating b/c while they're not graphic depictions of violence, it's still murder. Plus I keep adding in swear words.


	10. A Red Sun Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was wrong

**X. A Red Sun Rises**

The atmosphere onboard the Jackdaw was tense as the brig sailed east. Any attempt at a shanty was brutally cut off by Edward, his voice cracking down the deck like a whip the moment a note left a crew member’s lips.

Relentlessly, Edward pushed his crew to their limit. He called for the anchor to be raised barely an hour after the sun has risen and avoided the call to cast it over again until night threatened to overtake the Jackdaw. Every hour of the day was spent in preparation for their landing on Crooked Island and the route there.

Edward cursed every gust that delayed them, swore at every hint of a storm that would slow the Jackdaw down, yelled at any man who hindered the ship’s preparations. It was the last that caused the most unease on board and dragged the men’s spirits low and set their nerves alight. The first instance of Edward’s temper had surprised the men, their captain having lashed out at a crew member who took too long (in Edward’s mind at least) to haul in the anchor. The man was still reeling from the Assassin’s acidic words and avoided being in the captain’s presence while on deck.  Even those not involved shared in their comrade’s unease, their worry and fear near palpable in the air.

The mood lasted for days.

By the fourth day, Edward’s outbursts, while no longer surprising, were no more welcome than his first.

As the Caribbean sun rose towards high noon on the fourth day, Edward was still at the helm and was, for the moment, not barking orders down the Jackdaw’s deck.

“Captain, a word,” Adéwalé said. Edward gave a short nod, never taking his eyes from the horizon.

“Edward,” the barked order caught him off guard and his eyes shifted towards the other man out of wary surprise. Though the command had been harsh, Adéwalé's face was drawn into a look of concern and outright worry.  The other man stepped closer to the blonde with his arms crossed and a frown tugging at his scared mouth.

“I know you are worried about Connor but the men need to rest, Edward. They cannot handle what you ask of them.”

“Then they are not strong enough!” Edward shot back, giving voice to his irrational fears. He instantly regretted his words as Adéwalé’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“You do not mean that. If you do, then you are no longer fit to lead these men and as the Jackdaw’s quartermaster, I find it my duty to relieve you of your post—forcefully.”

“You’d take my ship from me, Adé? Do you truly believe that you could?” Edward said, glaring at his quartermaster through bloodshot eyes. The man in turn leveled Edward with a hard look and placed a hand on his waist, inches from his sword.

The tension rose between the two men to an unbearable level. Nearby crew members shifted uneasily and cast furtive glances towards the pair, concerned even in their exhausted state.

Edward backed down first. He raised a hand towards his face, removing it from its death grasp on the wheel for the first time in hours. Rubbing his tired eyes, Edward took a moment to breathe out before leaning against the polished wood of the Jackdaw’s helm. The shame he felt kept his gaze on the wheel, unable to look his quartermaster in the face and see his disappointment.

“Adé, forgive me. Those words were not my own. I spoke out of anger, something a captain should never do and you were- _are_ right to relieve me of my post.”

“It is not me you should apologize to, captain. The men need your words more than I.” Edward risked raising his gaze towards the man if just barely.

“Though,” Adéwalé offered a small smile to his captain. Forgiveness. Edward felt his shoulders relax for the first time in days. “It is good to hear them.”

Reassured, Edward nodded and called for his crew’s attention.

“I am sorry, lads. I have not been the best captain this past week, pushing you beyond what any man should be asked to do for his captain. I was wrong to put such burdens upon you, to ask what I myself am unable to give. We’re making port at the next island and will set out in the morning for Crooked Island and our cabin boy.”

His words were met with a cheer, subdued though it was. Edward stepped away from the helm allowing Adéwalé to take over.

“You have the helm, Adé,” Edward said, taking his quartermaster’s typical spot next to the wheel. “I’ll keep an eye out for land. Ragged island should be close by and a good enough place as any to weigh anchor for the night.”

“I’ll wait for your word then, captain.”

The rest of the day passed in silence and the underlying tension had lifted from the deck though by no means were the mean at ease.

When Ragged Island crested the horizon, Edward called it out to Adéwalé and the man aimed the brig towards the small strip of land. The island was small enough that it was largely unsettled, the small fisherman’s village on the northern end being the only exception.

The Jackdaw was comically large next to the small wooden huts that were clustered around the edge of the island’s inner vegetation. The locals gathered on the beach to watch the pirates move about the brig, but none dared to venture closer to the vessel. The Jackdaw’s black flag saw to that.

Uneasily, Edward called for the crew to settle in for the remainder of the day. His blue gaze flickered between the open sea and the light evening sky, the sky still a bright blue. He almost called out to belay his orders, to set sail once more but a glance at Adéwalé kept his mouth shut. His quartermaster was right, he could not push his men any further without allowing them a sorely needed rest. He would just have to trust that they would arrive before anything happened to Connor.

With a final glance to the sea, Edward retired to his quarters, intent on a few hours of rest.

***

Something was wrong. Though the sun had risen hours ago, a strange glow resided on the horizon. From the Jackdaw’s current distance, it appeared as a small red line over the bright cerulean of the Caribbean’s waters, no more than a quarter mile across. Edward’s heart gave a small lurch when he realized the direction. East.

“Every last scrap of dack on the wind!” Edward shouted, Adéwalé relaying the call to the men.

A sense of urgency descended upon the Jackdaw, the men hurrying across the deck, checking and rechecking canons that were already well prepared.

Edward’s own heart beat a steady rhythm against his chest, his Assassin training kicking in and regulating his breathing and heart rate. Instinctively he knew Adé was doing the same next to him.

The Jackdaw surged ahead, its bow slicing fast and true through the clear water. The only sound came from the creaking of the rudder as Edward deftly altered their course and the harsh sound of waves breaking against the Jackdaw’s hull.

The next minutes were spent in agonized trepidation as the Jackdaw drew closer to its final destination.

A soft gasp from one of the men broke the silence as Crooked Island finally came in to view, but still no words were spoken. No words could be in the face of such chaos.

Edward’s blue eyes took in the scene before the rapidly approaching ship, red searing into his gaze without the aid of his second sight.

Flames licked at the wooden houses placed along the pier, their thatched roofs catching fire easily in the dry Caribbean heat. Several small fishing boats had already caught fire while others were fleeing out to sea in a desperate attempt to leave the island and whatever reigned within its wooden confines.

As the Jackdaw drew close enough to begin docking, the midday air was pierced with sharp cries and shouts in a bastardization of languages. No one on board the ship needed a translation; the message was clear.

Edward pulled the Jackdaw short of the pier, unwilling to risk the wooden hull catching fire. Instead, he pulled the brig in close to the western shore of the island, docking the Jackdaw in the shallows next to the sandy beach.

Edward was already walking away from the helm before the anchor hit the water, barking orders to his men.

“Man the Jackdaw and raise anchor at the slightest sign of fire. Fend off any who come close, even civilians. Direct them towards the nearest boat instead. We don’t know what started this fire but I’m not taking any chances, understand? Adé, gather a group and take them onshore to see if you can’t find out what’s going on and if our Brothers are still here. I’ll find Connor.”

“Captain, be careful. This is too great a coincidence and I feel that something awaits us.”

“My thoughts exactly, Adé.” Edward’s next words were delayed by a figure running towards the Jackdaw and shouting. Edward’s second sight registered the man as an ally before his face could be recognized as one of their Brothers set to have left the island with Connor two days past.

“Brother!” the man gasped, stopping on the shore and waving madly towards the blonde captain.

“Thompson, what in the devil’s name is going on here? Did a pirate fall too far in the drink at the tavern?” Edward tried for humor but the fear in his voice killed the joke the moment it left his lips.

“Templars have attacked the island. We should have seen this coming; it was too much a coincidence.”

“What was? Speak quickly man. We have no time for half statements and pauses!” Edward said, his voice cracking across the distance between the two men.

“We haven’t the time to explain,” Thompson said, his head turned towards the slowly burning village. It was only at this pause that Edward finally heard what had his Brother in such a rush. The ringing of steel and cracks of gun fire could be heard buried under the shrieks of the local populace and cracking wood of the island’s small buildings falling to flame.

“The eastern side of the island is overrun by Templars and pirates alike. They’re looking for something—“ _someone_ , Edward’s mind supplied. The worst situation had come to pass. He thought they would have time. “—and we can’t hold them at bay much longer.”

“Change of plans, lads. Pierce—“a tall Frenchman strode over, brown hair shorn close to his skull revealing a long and jagged scar that curled just above his ear. “Take the Jackdaw to the docks on the southern side of the island but stay away until you see my signal, understand?”

“Sir.”

“I need half of you to make land and help our Brothers drive the enemy back. The rest of you prepare the canons and your selves for anything.”

His men split in a flurry as they hastened to obey their captain’s orders.

Edward himself dove into the water and swam the few yards that separated the brig from the island’s beachfront. Thompson was waiting for him with obvious impatience and growing fear, making small abortive motions to run back the way he had come.

Recognizing the look Edward turned to Adéwalé who had followed him ashore. “Lead the men to the east. Be quick about it.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, turning and sprinting towards the nearest staircase to the elevated village. Thompson ran beside him, explaining the situation in short bursts through his panting. The fight must have been going on for quite some time to cause a hardened Assassin like Thompson to be winded, a sign that did not bode well.

“Our ship was delayed—or attacked knowing the Templars—and did not arrive in port two days past. We waited, thinking it was just a storm that delayed it and this morning, before high noon, they attacked. Two brigs worth and a dozen or more pirates following not long after. They opened fire on the village first. I suspect they thought we were there but as luck would have it we were on the other side of the island.”

That would explain the fire then. Edward deftly avoided a fleeing villager and rounded the nearest building before jerking back around the corner. Two bullets lodged in the wood where he had just been. Kneeling low, he risked a glance around the corner and took in the situation. A sea of red filled his vision with small bursts of blue showing through. Slowly and surely however, the blue was driven back and cut off abruptly as a body fell even as Edward watched.

“Numbers mate, I need numbers.”

Thompson leant over Edward’s form and took a glance himself and drew back, a frown on his lips. “Twelve of our bothers are still alive, all waiting to make sail north and a dozen sympathizers living in the village. They fell first. The enemy numbered at close to fifty-five and baring any reinforcements, they should be closer to twenty now.”

Edward nodded even as his gut clenched in fear. The numbers sounded right for a preliminary force which meant the larger force was still enroot. “We need to work fast then, the rest should be here soon if what you’ve said is true.”

Thompson grimaced, unsurprised by the news and not welcoming its affirmation.

“Take your—“Edward drew up short as his mind finally dragged itself out of its battle mindset. “Where is Connor?”

How many times would—could he make this mistake before it cost the boy dearly?

“Last I saw, he was with Catalina and Palacio when they took him to hide in the forest.” The other Assassin was clearly surprised at Edward’s sudden demand, brows lifting in silent question. Edward hadn’t the time to satisfy his curiosity, mind already running through possibilities and strategies.

“We cannot win this fight, not with our numbers and the possibility of reinforcements. Recall your men and make your way towards the docks on the southern point of the island. Adé should be here soon with my crew and they’ll cover you. I need to find Connor but I will meet with you as quick as I can.”

“And the civilians?”

“If I’m right, the Templars should have no interest in them if we remove Connor and ourselves from the situation. Go, man!”

Edward stood and retraced his steps off the island’s elevated walkways and set off towards the jungle. He hoped he’d find Connor and his fellow Assassins alive but the sinking feeling in his gut told him otherwise.

He cursed as he ran for the north end of the island, boots thundering across the wood as he went.

***

Edward broke past the final set of stilts that upheld the Island’s buildings, loose sand paving the distance between himself and, hopefully, Connor. The scene in front of him however, set his nerves alight.

The north end of the island was empty. The remains of several tables were scattered over the sands, the planks flung as far as the tree line; several crates had collapsed into a messy pile, the contents leaking from the shattered containers; the sand was churned and uneven, skid marks and foot prints marring the white ground: evidence that a battle had occurred.

And before him on the white sand of the island were the bodies of two of his fellow Assassins, the red of their sashes paling in comparison to the blood that stained the fronts of their robes.

His gaze swept over the landscape seeking out any other bodies, living or otherwise. When nothing stood out, he took a moment to close his comrades’ eyes and offer a small prayer before slipping into his second sight. His eyes perused the small open space, vying to identify any clue that would tell him which way Connor had gone.

A pair of golden footprints caught the edge of his gaze, trailing away towards the east. Edward began running again, tripping in the loose sand in his haste.

Edward raced towards the open beachfront on the other side of the island, his heart a heavy weight inside his chest. The closer he drew to the eastern shore, the louder the sounds of battle and of men and women dying became.

Bursting onto the beach, Edward slipped back in to the familiar dark world of his second sight, scanning the engaged figures to spot the smallest flicker of gold.

He found it.

A small figure was wedged between a wooden wall and stack of crates underneath one of the stilted buildings and guarded by no less than three Brothers. Edward felt a surge of pride for his fellow Assassins. They protected the child even if they didn’t know the truth. He guessed a small portion of it was becoming clear however, as unending waves of enemies rushed them.

Further down the beach he caught sight of his crew exchanging blows with fellow pirates and Templars alike, the men bolstering the faltering Assassins.

Edward’s heart settled, eased slightly in the knowledge that his men were there and that Connor was hale for the moment. He unsheathed his twin swords, charging into the fray with the single minded focus of causing the greatest harm to those who had attacked his family.

His mind slipped into the familiar haze brought on by battle and conflict, his senses alight with sound and attuned to the smallest change in his surroundings. Those that tried to sneak up and attacked an unguarded flank were found grasping their chests in pain as a sword bit through them, its twin ending their lives moments later. Relentlessly, Edward fought his way through the sea of red figures, angling towards Connor and his Brothers.

Later, Edward would suppose it was only a matter of time before the Assassins guarding Connor fell, exhausted and overrun as they were. But at that moment, Edward could only feel unending shock as the first of the three fell with a gunshot wound to his heart, the second with a matching wound not ten seconds later. The third, enraged by the death of his comrades gave a roar and drove his hidden blade into the nearest throat before a look of pain over took his features. Two bullet holes punched through the white of his robes framing his heart and driving the man to his knees. With a final gasp the Assassin fell to his side in a graceless mound and the indignity of his death burned through Edward’s veins.

Edward watched as the enemies closest to his downed Brothers drew back, parting like a curtain around the tall form of a man with a wide, feathered hat. The man, whose flowing cloak matched the burning red of a Templar, reached behind the loosely stacked crates and pulled Connor from their protection.

Even from the few meters that separated Edward and the boy, he could not hear what the man said to cause such terror and fear to overcome the native’s face. Connor gave a shout and tried to jerk his arm away from the man’s grasp, his booted feet digging in to the soft sand in an attempt to ground himself. The boy didn’t stand a chance. The much larger Templar merely grasped him around the middle and lifted the boy, treating him as nothing more than cargo as he turned and strode away quickly.

“Unhand him!” the shout rent the air between the two men, strangled and not at all authoritative. A plea when Edward could ill afford one.

Connor’s head jerked up, recognizing the pirate’s voice and gave a cry, “Edward!”

The Templar showed no sign that he had heard the pirate as he continued to hurry across the battlefield. Edward charged the remaining fifty meters between the two, hidden blade unsheathed and prepared to drive into the man’s neck.

A pair of men moved to intercept the Assassin—Templars, pirates, it didn’t matter. Both fell with matching red lines across their throats. The other man spared a glance over his shoulder and, finally sensing the danger Edward posed, broke into a run unmindful of his burden.

Connor however, was not making it easy for his captor. He squirmed and kicked at the man as best he could, trying to unbalance the Templar. With a snarl, the man dropped the boy and grabbed his arm before he could dart away. The boy resumed his struggles, wrenching his arm back and digging his small heels into the sand, head twisting around wildly for help.

By luck or chance, Connor happened to glance towards Edward his brown eyes wide in terror.

“Edward, please.”

Edward closed the remaining distance between himself and Connor’s captor. He was a mere five yards away before he drew up short, stopping just as suddenly as he had started.

“I had thought to save this boy for Rogers to kill,” the man said, a thick French accent staining each syllable. The barrel of a pistol was leveled at Edward’s heart, the only barrier between himself and Connor.

“The honor rightfully belongs to him but it seems that our time is short. You Assassins have a way of ruining our plans the longer you continue to breathe. Sadly, it appears I will have to finish the traitor’s line.” The man’s smile belied his true emotions on the matter.

“I’ll give you one chance,” Edward said in a low and menacing tone. “Release the boy, and you’ll walk away with life enough to piss yourself.” It was the best he could offer.

The man’s chuckle was cut off by his own cry of surprised pain. Connor, using the man’s distraction to his benefit, had sunk his teeth into the man’s arm hard enough to draw blood. The man snarled and jerked the boy closer.

“ _Fils de pute_ ! No better than a dog, biting the hand of its betters when it should just die.”

He aimed his pistol at the boy but Edward got there first. Snapping a hand out to divert the gun, Edward registered the bullet’s discharge into the sand then slashed his hidden blade across the man’s forearm. As planned, the man released Connor’s arm with a hiss of pain, grasping for the other pistol holstered on his hip.

Moving quickly, Edward attacked the man in short strikes with his hidden blade, the other man moving just out of his reach each time.

The man was good, Edward would give him that. A lesser man would have fallen to his blades long ago but the French Templar blocked each of Edward’s strikes, using his pistols as makeshift blades to parry the blows.

Edward’s unpredictability would prove to be his saving grace. He darted in close to the other man and attacked with his left hand, bringing his arm down in a wide overhead arc. The Templar, startled by the pirate’s sudden closeness, focused his attention on the left blade meeting the length of steel with the barrel of his pistol, the two weapons locking with a metallic click. Without giving the man time to recover, Edward brought his right hand down, mimicking his previous movements with the Templar responding in kind.

With a vicious smile, Edward suddenly retracted his left hidden blade. The Templar’s gun, no longer braced against metal, jerked in the air from left over force and gave the Assassin a small window of opportunity. Edward’s hand shot forward, hidden blade extending with a small click. The blade pierced directly into the man’s chest, inches away from his heart.

The Templar gasped and staggered back in shock but Edward followed. He aimed his next attack at the man’s heart, lunging forward once more as he drove the blade into the man. Their momentum carried the two men to the ground, landing in the soft sand with a muffled thud.

Panting, Edward withdrew his weapon from the Templar’s body. He offered the man a short prayer as was dictated by his creed before turning to Connor.

The boy still stood where the Templar had released him and Edward got his first true look at Connor since he’d last seen him near two weeks ago.

The boy’s shoulders shook, a shiver racing through his body as the adrenaline of the encounter ran its course through him. His hands were clenched at his sides, his mouth set in a line that wobbled dangerously. It was then Edward noticed the boy’s cheek. A short but deep red line ran under his right eye, the facial wound bleeding heavily. Before he knew it, Edward was in front of the boy, fingers pressed tightly against the wound to stem the bleeding.

“I'm sorry, Connor,” Edward began, keeping a tight grasp on his emotions when he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg the boy to forgive him. Such a notion was nearly entirely foreign to him. “If you never forgive me for this, that would be well within your right. What we have put you through-“

“It is alright, Edward,” Connor broke in though his face was still scrunched up as if he were moments away from breaking down into tears. Edward felt a burst of pride towards this boy for remaining strong when others would have long since broken.

A pistol discharging brought him out of his revere, eyes tracking a body not five feet from them dropping to the floor, cutlass slipping from its raised position. Edward tracked the shot to one of his Sisters racing towards the pair. For the first time since his altercation with the Templar, Edward took stock of the scene around him. Bodies were scattered across the sand and Edward could see a few pairs still engaged in combat a ways down the beach. The area closest to him was empty save for the three of them, the enemy evidently fleeing once they saw their leader fall.

“Sir, the situation has changed,” the woman said, wiping equal parts blood and sweat from her forehead. “The men have almost finished boarding the boat but it’s as we feared. Templar reinforcements were spotted on the horizon due east: another brig and half a dozen schooners not a league away. We must leave now.”

“The Jackdaw is a ship, not a boat.” Edward thought the words had come from himself as he had said the same thing to his Brothers countless times in the past to no effect. However, it was Connor who had said the rebuttal, hand now pressed over his bleeding cheek.

The pirate gave a small laugh and pushed Connor towards the nearest intact staircase mindful of the flames still spreading across the village. The fire was smaller now and he thought a few of the island’s inhabitants had spared enough time to hinder its spread before fleeing from the island.

“Aye, Connor, and we’d best get back to her as quick as we can.”

The trio took off across the wooden walkways, taking care to avoid any enemies hidden within the twisting turns of the stilted village. The few they ran across were dispatched quickly as they picked their way closer to the docked ship.

The trio burst onto the wooden dock leading towards the jackdaw and watched as the last stragglers clambered on board the ship. Edward recognized Adéwalé’s tall form standing next to the ship on the dock, gesturing widely to the crew members running about the deck.

Making a split decision, Edward picked Connor up and charged down the wooden dock, shouting as he went.

“Weigh anchor and prepare to unfurl the mains!”

His order reached Adéwalé and the other man climbed aboard the ship to relay the command to the crew. The man reached the wheel, prepared to guide the Jackdaw from port the moment Edward’s group was on board.

The jump from dock to the deck of his ship seemed near impossible, the gap widening as the Jackdaw began to lurch into motion. Edward pushed hard against the wooden dock and made the jump gracelessly, his Sister landing moments after himself.

Panting he raced towards the helm, placing Connor on the ground as he went. He took the helm from Adé, spinning the wooden wheel rapidly to direct the brig away from the island.

“Every last scrap of dack on the winds! Prepare the cannons for battle. The Templars won’t let us leave without a fight.”

“Edward, there’s a storm brewing to the south,” Adéwalé said, eyes taking in the dark clouds brewing just a head of the Jackdaw’s current course. “We cannot get caught in that monster.”

“I see it Adé, but that is our course.”

His quartermaster nodded, feet braced against the deck in anticipation.

“Captain, five sails to port! They’re flying British colors and approaching fast!” the lookout called.

Edward craned his neck to look at the incoming ships, no doubt the reinforcements his Sister had warned about. A brig and four faster schooners sailed towards the Jackdaw a mere league away.

Edward’s mind ran through numerous possibilities, gut tightening when he realized they’d be within firing range before they reached the edges of the storm.

Edward took a chance and glanced back at their pursuers through his spy glass, seeking out the brig’s form behind the schooners. Adé took the helm, steering the ship steadily towards the growing storm.

As he slowly roved the glass over the brig a figure at the bow caught his attention. Situated between the mortar canons was a tall figure, male by the dress and physique. Though the details were foggy and out of focus Edward noticed there was something off about the figure’s face on the left hand side.

Though it could be any number of men, he had a feeling it was the mysterious Rogers the Templars kept referring to. The guess did not ease his mind and he took the wheel back with a renewed sense of urgency.

Luck was on the side of the Assassin’s however. As they drew within firing range of the perusing Templars, the winds picked up and the waters began to rage as the storm broke upon the ships.

“Secure the rigging and prepare to fall in to half sail, lads,” Edward barked, fighting against the wind and waves as he steered the Jackdaw further south.

From past experiences, Edward knew the storm was nowhere near the level of a hurricane. But ‘less than a hurricane’ was not a reassuring measurement. Rain pelted down upon the ship, the falling water nearly horizontal due to the ragging winds. When a dangerous gust blew against the sails and turned the Jackdaw sharply to the right, Edward called for less sail.

Adéwalé, taking note of the situation, barked out an order without needing Edward’s approval.

“If you’re not part of the crew, head below. We don’t need any more bodies up here. If you fall over board we cannot turn back and pull you from the water.”

The dozen or so Assassins stumbling about the deck moved towards the lower hatch, sliding in the water that pooled on the wooden surface of the ship. A few of the Jackdaw’s crew followed them below deck to guide the Assassins to the crew’s quarters to wait out the storm. Edward trusted that his men had likewise guided Connor below deck before they’d entered the storm. He could not afford to take his attention away from the storm to search for the boy, no matter how much he wanted to.

Winds battered the brig’s sails and waves beat against the hull like a cannon’s bombardment. Edward pushed their pursuers to the back of his mind and turned his focus instead towards the storm, the larger threat of the two.

Time dragged in the storm; crew members slipped and slid over the deck as they rushed to secure snapped rigging and tighten ropes that became lose from sudden and intense changes in wind. The Jackdaw was a ship to be proud of, however. She had survived worse than this. As before, she stood her ground, cresting waves and remaining firmly upright even as her crew tottered on their feet.

“Captain, they’re turning back!” a crew member shouted from behind the man. Edward knew better than to turn his back to the storm and had to trust in his crew member’s word. Implicitly, he did.

Even with the loss of their pursuers, the Jackdaw was not out of danger yet. Their only chance was to survive the storm and come out the other side. Without a doubt, the British vessels would wait on the other side, expecting the brig to turn back rather than plunge deeper into the storm. Evidently, they doubted the Jackdaw and her crew. Edward lived to prove such men wrong.

After hours, the ship finally cleared the last remnants of the storm and sailed across waters that lay still.

Unbidden a cry went up from the crew, a wordless sound of joy and relief that broke from each man’s throat in equal measure.

Edward all but collapsed against the wheel, a relieved laugh falling from his lips.

“Jaysus.”

“I swear, Edward,” Adéwalé said, a wide grin pulling his scars until the skin turned nearly white. “You are the craziest man I have ever met. That is two storms you have pulled us through.”

“What can I say, Adé? The Devil doesn’t want my soul just yet.”

After checking their surroundings and finding the waters clear for the moment, Edward called for the only the mains to be open. The men had more than earned their rest for the day.

“Edward!” said man startled and watched in surprise as Connor raced up the stairs having just come from within the captain’s own quarters. A haggard looking Sister followed the boy out, clutching her stomach in nausea.

Edward gave a delighted laugh as the small child threw his arms around him in a tight hug, his own arms coming down despite his surprise.

“You came back!”

“Aye, lad. I did.”

Edward allowed himself to simply enjoy the contact. The boy that was quickly becoming dear to him, an irrevocable part of his family, and Edward took comfort from the fact that he had been quick enough to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fils de pute= son of a bitch (a la Google translate and the internet. hopefully that's correct?)
> 
> I split this chapter into two parts, so expect the second part later. Also I think this is the longest chapter, if not it's a close second.
> 
> And I'm supposed to be working on my Dragon Age BigBang. whoops.
> 
> Thanks to all who have commented/kudo'd/bookmarked! It makes my day to see people enjoying my stories :)


	11. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm after the storm

**XI. After The Storm**

The morning after the storm, Edward awoke later than usual. The sounds of movement outside his cabin assured the man that his crew had been awake for some time and were ready to begin another day of sailing. Rather than join the men, Edward allowed himself a few moments more to think over the past few hours.

Late last night, after Edward had sent his men off for a well-deserved rest, the captain and Adéwalé had taken the time to chart the Jackdaw’s current position. After consulting Edward’s numerous star charts and maps, the men had estimated their position to be several dozen miles south of Great Inagua and Edward’s base located there.

Rather than turn sail, the captain argued for a course set for Kingston. While his base was closer, the Brothers stationed there would not be as well informed as Antó, the bureau leader stationed in Kingston. The port city saw more altercations with the Templars than anywhere else in the Caribbean save for Havana. If any bureau would have information, it would be Antó’s.

Adéwalé had agreed after thoroughly planning their course of action for the coming days. Edward had retired and slept peacefully that night; the first night in nearly a week since learning the truth.

A sharp knock on one of his cabin doors brought the man out of his revere.

“A moment,” the man called out, hastening to get dressed and ready for the day. He pulled open the cabin door to reveal Connor.

“Connor, up already?” the man asked, a smile playing on his lips.

“Adéwalé sent me to wake you,” Connor said, voice softer than Edward remembered. “You are the last to wake today.”

Edward gazed past the boy, taking in the forms of his crew moving about the deck. His Brothers and Sisters moved about the men, their white robes at odds with the darker coloring of his crew’s own clothing.

“And so I am,” Edward said. “Connor, would you mind waiting here a moment? There’s something we need to discuss.”

The boy’s confusion was obvious but he nodded regardless.

Edward bound quickly up the stairs and moved towards Adéwalé. “I have business with Connor this morning, Adé, but we need to get underway. I trust you can get us started and on our way?”

“Aye, captain.”

With a sharp nod, Edward retreated into his cabin and motioned for Connor to join him within.

“If you would have a seat, Connor.” Edward gestured to one of the cushioned chairs situated around the large, circular table situated in the center of his quarters. Nervously, the boy complied.

Seeing this, Edward quickly knelt in front of the boy. “It is nothing bad, Connor. I just had a few questions that I hoped you would answer for me.”

Despite his words, Edward paused, the words unwilling to leave his throat. Eventually, he gathered his will and spoke.

“I know that this may be asking a great deal of you, Connor, but it is very important.” He waited for the boy to nod before continuing. “I would ask that you tell me where you and your family had been over the past few months up until the day the Aquila was attacked.”

Connor visibly started at the latter half of Edward’s question. The boy hunched down into the chair, fingers digging into the red suede fabric of the seat cushion in obvious distress. “I do not see why that is important.”

“Because the men who attacked your ship are still out there.” Edward refrained from mentioning that the men were Templars like his father had been. He wondered if his cousin had ever told Connor about his Order or his role in it. The only way to find out how much the boy knew was if he answered his questions. “They were the men on Crooked Island and they will stop at nothing to get you. I need to know all that I can if I am to protect you. Please, Connor. I would not ask if I did not think it important.”

However, the boy stayed silent. Edward remained in his lowered position, intent on waiting the boy out. He could see that the memories greatly upset Connor as the loss of his parents was undoubtedly still fresh in his mind. A part of Edward hated that he had put the boy in such a position, but it was necessary. Finally, Connor spoke.

“Father approached mother one day and said that we were to leave for Boston the next morning to catch a boat. He said that we were to go on a trip around the colonies. We traveled for months and saw many things and places and people.  _Rake'níha_  would not say why we were travelling; only that it was an adventure and  _Akenistén:’a_ never said anything different. We boarded Mister Faulkner’s ship in Davenport and sailed south for a long time.”

Here Connor paused. Edward offered a quick squeeze to the boy’s knees in hopes of offering comforting. It seemed to work as Connor began once more. “On…that day…Mister Faulkner said that we had just sailed past a place called Florida when mother called me over to her…”

***

“ _Ratonhnhaké:ton, come here_ , “ Kanienhtí:io called to her son, fingers reaching out for the boy’s hand to steady him. The young boy tottered closer to his mother, swaying slightly as the ship moved over the waves.

The wooden beads of her bracelets rattled when Ratonhnhaké:ton’s searching fingers bounced against their polished surfaces as he reached for his mother, his small hand locking firmly around her hand. His unoccupied hand played with the beautifully colored beads as he stood next to her.

“Come closer,” she said and pointed over the wooden railing. “Can you see them?”

“What  _Ista_ , what is it?” Ratonhnhaké:ton peeked over the railing, small hand braced for leverage against the railing as he tried to search the churning ocean below. “I cannot see anything.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Strong arms wrapped around Connor’s middle, lifting the boy from the deck and perching him against a cloth covered hip.

“ _Raké:ni_ !” the boy cried out. Thin arms wrapped forcefully around his father’s neck in a tight grasp, his interest in the ocean forgotten in the face of Haytham’s appearance.

“Careful, Connor, or I might—“Haytham abruptly lifted the boy once more, raising him directly above the rail. From the young boy’s perspective, it appeared as if his feet were dangling over the side of the ship. He gave a short squeal of surprise and child-like fear though his father’s hands were firm around his waist. “-drop you!”

“Father, no!” the boy cried, small legs squirming and trying to reach the rail. “I will be good and careful!”

With a laugh his father pulled him close once more, arms wrapping tight around his son. “Hmm, I don’t know, Ziio, should we trust him? Maybe just a small dip…”

Ziio however, simply laughed at her husband and moved closer to the pair. “You would have to go in the ocean yourself to do it and we might just leave you there rather than pull you both back in.”

“True! It looks like you’re safe, Connor.” The man gazed down at his son with an adoring expression, one mirrored in the soft planes of his mother’s face.

“Now, if you’ve finished threatening our son, I was trying to show him something.” Ziio tugged Haytham closer to the rail, leaning over herself and pointing towards the clear waters below. “See that, Ratonhnhaké:ton? Just below the surface?”

Connor leaned over, careful to remain firmly in his father’s arms though the man himself bent over to aid his son’s search. His brown eyes moved slowly over the water, scanning every inch of the blue surface with all the intensity of an eight year-old child. He was about to give up and ask his mother what was down there when he saw them. Smooth, sleek creatures moved swiftly beneath the surface, pacing just behind the Aquila. As he watched they suddenly jumped, grey bodies breaking through the water for but a moment before disappearing beneath the waves once more.

Gasping in delight, Connor turned towards his mother with wide eyes. “What are they,  _Ista_ ?”

“They are called dolphins, Ratonhnhaké:ton. See how they play in the ship’s wake?”

“Why do they do that?”

The woman frowned, the expression almost a pout as if childishly displeased at not knowing the answer. “Hmm, I do not know. Haytham?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you, Connor, it’s a mighty secret.” The boy, rather than be disappointed, gasped in delight once more. His father knew everything!

“Tell me,  _Raké:ni_ ! I can keep a secret.” His father pretended to think a moment longer before leaning down to whisper in his son’s ear.

“They’re wishing us luck on our journey. Dolphins are an omen of good fortune and only chase after the best of ships.” Haytham told him in a mock whisper, his words clearly audible to both Ziio and Connor.

“Like the Aquila?”

“Indeed! You might tell Mister Faulkner. I’m sure he’d be glad to hear his boat has such good luck.”

“It’s a ship,  _Raké:ni_ , not a boat. Mister Faulkner told me so!” Connor giggled at the memory of the old captain’s face when Connor had declared he had a nice boat. He had never seen a man turn so red!

“Quite right. We can’t let the good captain hear us talk of the Aquila this way, he’d—“

“Ship off the bow! Cap’n, I can’t see any colors!” The cry rent through the air on deck, reaching to the stern where Connor stood with his family. “She’s headed towards us, full sail!”

The mood on deck abruptly changed, the earlier gaiety replaced by a tension that thrummed under the skins of the Aquila’s crew. The hairs raised on the back of Connor’s neck, some inner part of himself reacting to the danger that was beyond his childish comprehension. His fingers sought out the thin red tie his father wore, tugging uneasily at the thin fabric and moving to grab on to the white linen of the man’s shirt.

“Hard to port! Put the wind at our backs.” Captain Faulkner’s command was quick and sure, tone controlled even as the tension rose on deck. Sailors ran between decks at a rapid pace, carting cannonballs and muskets up the stairs while others unfurled the sails and tightened lines.

Haytham jolted in to action, placing Connor on the ground in one smooth movement before striding towards the helm. The boy watched his father leave and attempted to follow. His mother’s hand on his shoulder held him in place, her bracelets clattering softly when she reached down to grab Connor’s hand. The action was so different form just moments before that it tightened the uneasy feeling in his stomach further and had him searching his mother’s face for reassurance. Her face, normally relaxed and smooth, was marred by a faint line between her brows. Connor tuned once more towards his father and the captain, both their backs turned towards him.

“You mean to outrun them, captain?” Haytham said, standing with a straight back just off the older gentlemen’s left shoulder. His arms were tucked behind his back and only Connor and Ziio could see how tightly his hands were grasping one another. “Is that wise?”

Faulkner gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “No, but it’s the best choice we’ve got. The Aquila has the ability to fight off anyone who attempts to take her, but—“here the captain spared a quick glance over his shoulder towards Connor and Ziio. Haytham followed the man’s gaze and his own eyes gained a pinched look at the corners, the normally soft brown of his eyes darkening. “That should be a last resort. Not with our current  _cargo_ .”

“I understand.”

“Best get your family below deck, Kenway, just to be safe.”

Haytham nodded once before turning towards his family and motioned them closer. Ziio tugged Connor over, hand uncomfortably firm around the boy’s much smaller fingers.

“Haytham?”

“Take Connor below deck, Ziio. I’ll be along shortly.” Haytham herded the two towards the lower level entrance on deck, eyes glued on the fast approaching ship.

“Haytham, what is it?” Ziio’s sharp tone tugged her husband’s attention back to her, hazel eyes unyielding in their stare. The man felt himself caught, remembering that this was not a woman meant to be coddled or sheltered from the harsh realities of the world. Ziio was his equal in every way and he could not hide the truth from her.

“Pirates, most likely. We should have expected this, sailing so close to Nassau.” Haytham gave a strained smile. “It’ll probably amount to nothing, but to be safe I’d rather have you take Connor below deck.”

Ziio stared at her husband a moment more before nodding once and placing a quick kiss to the man’s lips. “I’ll be back then.”

Knowing better than to argue Haytham nodded once and turned towards his son. Seeing the boy’s expression had the man crouching down to be at the same height as the young boy. He regarded the boy seriously, his voice, once light and joking, had gained a bit of steel.

“Be good and listen to your mother, Connor. You must stay below deck no matter what you hear, understand?”

The small child stared at his father, uncomprehending and brow furrowed in confusion. He did not understand this sudden change in his father, and it caused the heavy feeling in his gut to increase and the boy felt nauseous with fear.

“ _Raké:ni_ …”

“It’s alright Connor, just adult business.” The man softened his voice when he spoke again though the change did little to loosen the knot in Connor’s gut. His father placed his larger hand on his son’s soft black hair, mussing the fine hairs with calloused fingers. “You’ll be good, right son?”

“Of course _, Raké:ni_ !” Though frightened, the boy offered a shaky smile to his father, eager to make the man proud.

The man gave a soft sigh, his lips tugging up in a lopsided smile. “That’s my brave little wolf.”

Haytham rose slowly from his lowered position, his reluctance to part with his son clear in each movement he made.

With a brief glance, the two adults separated. As Connor was tugged below deck by his mother, he gave one final look towards the foreign ship, eyes catching on the solid black flag.

***

"I do not remember what happened next. It was all a blur of fire and smoke, and my mother... she was trapped and I could not save her. And father was gone, above deck helping Mister Faulkner and the men in red sashes fight. The next thing I knew, the Aquila, and my mother and father, everyone was gone. I do not know if anyone else survived or what even really happened, but…I was alone. And then you found me."

Edward has remained silent during Connor’s explanation, soaking in the information before speaking.

“Thank you, Connor. That could not have been easy for you, but I am proud of you for it.” The boy flushed with pride at Edward’s praise, a look that sent a strange, almost fatherly sensation down Edward’s spine. He wished more than anything that he could be down asking such questions, not wanting to pick at the wound until it scabbed and scarred over for the boy. But Connor had mentioned something—several things if he were to be honest—that had perked his ears in both interest and fear. “I only have one more question.”

Again, he waited for the boy to nod before continuing.

“Those men in red sashes, did they look like my Brothers?” He clarified when he saw the boy’s startled look at the apparent non-sequitor, “The men in white who had been on the island with you?”

The boy stumbled in his answer and his brown eyes darted to the closed doors of Edward’s cabin as if seeking out the aforementioned persons. “A little; they wore the same red sash, and wore the same hoods but everything else was different.”

Assassins, Edward would bet, and most likely from the Colonial Brotherhood. Though why they would be in the company of a Templar, let alone fighting beside one, was a mystery. The answer, if it was what he feared, would add a further layer of complication to the matter, one Edward was loath to pry into. It promised sleepless nights and a level of danger and mystery that Edward was uncomfortable being in the dark on.

Edward pressed further.

“Had you seen these men before? When you and your family traveled in the north?”

The boy’s brow scrunched together in thought. “No, at least, I do not think so. I only remember seeing them on the Aquila.”

Edward gave the boy a smile and said again, “Thank you, Connor.”

The man stood up and reached for the boy’s small hands, pleasantly surprised when the boy immediately placed his own, much smaller, palms into Edward’s own. He tugged the boy from the chair and led him towards the cabin door. Unknowingly, his left hand remained firmly clasped around Connor’s much smaller right hand. “I think it is time we rejoined the men—Adé may have sailed us into a sandbar without me there.”

The boy let out a startled laugh. “Truly?”

Edward let out a laugh of his own. “That man is almost as good a helmsman as me, but stranger things have happened.”

Opening the door, Edward stepped out onto the deck and morning light. Instead of leading Connor towards the helm however, Edward walked over to the lower deck’s hatch.

“Though, a spot of breakfast might do me some good before facing the day. I think we can leave the fate of the Jackdaw in Adé’s hands a while longer, don’t you, Connor?”

“Aye, captain.”

***

“Connor, how would you like one little trick at the helm?”

The boy looked over his shoulder in surprise. He had been leaning against the aft railing for the better part of the day, looking over the edge of the Jackdaw towards the cliffs and islands they passed by. Edward had let the boy be though his silence troubled the older man. Connor had been withdrawn ever since their conversation yesterday and Edward wished to see him in a lighter mood.

“You would not mind?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I did. Besides, the waves are calm enough for even a land lubber to try their hand at sailing.”

Connor gave a small smile and walked over towards Edward, his quick pace giving away his joy at being able to steer such a large vessel. He stepped up to the helm and Edward gave an involuntary bark of laughter. The boy was dwarfed by the large wheel and even if Edward had expected such a scenario the sight was still humorous. Though the boy was large for his age, the helm of a Brig was beyond the grasp of any child.

“A moment, Connor.” Edward motioned a crew member over and quickly ordered for a crate to be brought up for the boy to stand on.

Once settled on top of the wooden crate—though not without a small pout at the captain’s laughter—Connor was better able to see over the top of the wooden frame but not by much. The boy’s small hands grasped the handles, the slight trembling of the limbs betraying his nerves.

Edward moved to stand behind the boy and just off his shoulder.

“Now just hold her steady. The winds are fair and the waves aren’t pushing us too harshly so you need not worry about changing our course.” As he lectured, Edward kept his gaze focused on the boy trusting that his men would alert him of any approaching dangers. “Keep your eye on the sea and watch for anything that’s afloat. The sea is full of nasty tricks especially for the unexperienced. I’ve seen more than my fair share of men running against the smallest islands atop these waters.”

“I cannot see around the mast. How do I know what is in front of the ship?” Connor asked, rocking side to side as he tried to peer around the large pole to little avail.

“Aye, it is strange to have so much of your view blocked,” Edward said, remembering his own frustrations from when he first began to sail. “That’s why a man cannot sail alone. A helmsman needs the word of his lookouts in order to safely navigate these waters and keep an eye out for any British patrols.”

The boy let out a soft laugh in response before he paused in thought. “Are you a helmsman, Edward? I thought you were the captain?”

“Both, actually. Most ships have a separate helmsman, but I’ve always loved to sail and I prefer to do the sailing myself. I find it easier to set a course when I am the one piloting rather than calling the directions from behind.”

“It makes you a better captain?” the boy asked and Edward felt a flash of pride at the boy’s insight.

“Indeed. At least I like to think so.”

The two lapsed into silence, enjoying the breeze that blew over the deck and sun that blazed overhead. The midday weather was pleasant and Edward couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed such a peaceful moment. Surely not since before he and Connor had parted ways at Crooked Island nearly a fortnight past.

The thought startled Edward. Had it really been so long since that mistake? The way it hounded his thoughts made it seem as if it had happened just the other day. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the knowledge that it had been two weeks since that disaster and the ensuing chaos the occurred not two days past.

Regardless, those mistakes were in the past and he could only keep moving forward.

Edward gently nudged Connor’s arm back into place, noticing that the boy’s arms were beginning to become uneven as the ship listed to the left.

“Steady as she goes, Connor.”

“Sorry,” the boy said and tightened his grip, focusing once more on keeping the Jackdaw on course. Connor kept the wheel steady even when he shifted on the balls of his feet to maintain his balance as the ship gently rocked atop the waves. It was only after they cleared a nearby rock cluster that Connor spoke once more.

“Edward?”

“Yes, lad?”

“What marks a man as a captain?”

The non-sequitur questioned seemed odd until he remembered their last exchange. It appeared the boy had given more thought to Edward’s position than he had previously thought. He didn’t think Connor meant anything as paltry as a uniform or a declaration on paper but the character of a man regarded as a leader. His actions.

“He is a man sure in his own measure and principles, chosen by those who serve and are drawn to him. More than this, however, is how he behaves.

“A captain must be commanding and in charge at all times, Connor.” Edward stepped away from the boy at the wheel, assuming Adéwalé’s usual spot off to the side. “If he does not show conviction in all that he does, his men will falter and question his decisions, placing them in danger.

“A captain, you understand, is responsible for all onboard his ship. He must know each man and command their respect fully. But this is not a one sided relationship. If the captain does not trust his crew, then they in turn will not trust him and an unstable bond will form. One easily broken by mutiny and disloyalty.”

Edward himself had far too much experience with the former and his words came from experience and not mere philosophy. His mind was drawn back to his early days as a pirate when he had not worked alongside Brothers and loyal men. Instead he had surrounded himself by men-for-hire who sought only the easiest source of coin and only Adéwalé’s presence saved him from a knife in the back, though the latter hadn’t been without his own trials.

It was not a time he looked back on fondly as it called to mind what Adéwalé had spoken all those months ago in Tulum.

“To fight beside a man so driven by personal gain and glory is a hard thing, Edward,” he had said. The look of disappointment and disgust on Adé’s face as he spoke them only further drove the spike of guilt into his heart. They were words he swore to live by but that caused his heart to ache all the same in remembrance of the fool he had been: a fool who had almost lost everything for riches and vanity.

Edward pushed the memory back down into his heart where he kept it at all times to avoid repeating the same mistake.

He glances at Connor, hoping that he had not noticed the captain’s inner turmoil.

“In order to avoid this, be strong in your orders. Shout them with conviction and stand by all that you do. Never yield. Never appear weak or unsure when at the helm. Mistakes can be made on land and in the company of others, but once a man takes the wheel he becomes the mind and body of his entire crew and is responsible for them.

“So stand tall, wreck-boy, and shout firmly. The men will hear.”

The native boy stared at Edward a moment longer, before turning to face the length of the deck once more. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself.

“Give me everything!” the voice, usually quiet and soft, was loud—as loud as a boy could shout—and did not waver in the slightest. Several crew members turned towards the wheel, surprised that it was Connor, the little cabin boy that had shouted and not their captain. Edward smiled, gesturing out to his men.

“You heard the lad—full sail. We’re chasing the wind today, lads!”

“Aye Cap’n!”

With a great flourish, the sails unfurled and the Jackdaw shot forth, tearing across the waves as the wind pushed it forward. And all the while, Connor held firm to the wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the world's most original title, I know. And fatherly Haytham kills me every time. oh what could have been /wistful sigh/  
> Also, the flashback was heavily inspired by this gorgeous picture of [Haytham and tiny Connor](http://astroize-archive.tumblr.com/post/43334689749)
> 
> Raké:ni- dad  
> Akenistén:’a - my mother (when referring to her)  
> Rake'níha - my father (when referring to him)  
> Ista - mom  
> All of the Mohawk phrases I use come from [here](http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Mohawk/Phrases)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!!


	12. Learned Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have scars. Some are just less visible

**XII. Learned Violence**

Edward called for the anchor to be weighed while a shroud of fog still clung to the sea, eager to reach his destination by making the most of the day’s travel.

The morning passed in the same manner as the day previous and Edward almost allowed himself to be drawn back into the familiar pattern of sailing but was halted by the sight at the prow of the Jackdaw. Just before the massive mortar canons was a small commotion that drew his eye along with several others’. It was difficult to make out the source owing to the increased presence of Brothers on deck despite the early hour but when he made out the source he nearly froze in place.

Connor and another figure were engaged in combat next to the forward mast and it was the flash of metal that had Edward abandoning his place at the helm and sprinting down the length of the brig faster than he thought possible.

Edward’s heart stopped at the sight of a blade descending towards Connor, the act so reminiscent of a few days prior that he felt as if he were back on the beach, watching in horror as a Templar attacked Connor. But it was a figure—a woman, he noted distantly—clothed in white that was moving around the boy with a sword drawn.

Edward was halfway down the deck in a flurry of rage before he noticed the wooden stick clutched in Connor’s own hand. The sight did little to sooth his anger.

His hand shot out and grabbed the woman’s hand as her blade descended, though the woman masked her surprise at Edward’s bold intervention. With her hand held captive in his firm grasp, Edward took a moment to look over the woman who dared attack the Jackdaw’s cabin boy.

The woman bore the traditional white attire of the northern Colonial Brotherhood rather than the short dress of the Caribbean’s own women, identifying her as one of the dozen chosen to embark on the mission north. Her long red sash marked her as a mercenary ranked assassin, well trained enough to begin advising novice assassins or being training others new to the way of the sword and the Creed.

None of that excused her actions.

“Tell me why you see fit to attack my cabin boy in broad sight, Sister?” Edward bit out, refusing to relinquish his grasp on her wrist even as she tugged to be free.

The woman, rather than be cowed by Edward’s piercing gaze, merely glared back at the older—and higher ranked—man. “Teaching.”

Her words were short and carried a trace of a German accent on the way she stumbled through the sharp “ch” of the word.

“As I recall, I did not offer my Brothers free reign to attack members of my crew while on board under the pretense of ‘teaching’,” Edward said, finally releasing the woman’s grasp. A sharp tug on his own sash cut of his planned tirade of words.

He looked down into furrowed brown eyes as Connor glared up at the man. The look shocked Edward enough that he too floundered in the face of the boy’s childish wrath.

“That is enough, Edward.” The boy stated firmly as he planted his feet firmly in the face of the captain’s flabbergasted look. “Maria is teaching me the sword that I might protect myself.”

“She is what?” If Adéwalé could hear him now, he would never hear the end of it. Parroting words back like a man struck dumb by drink. “Why?”

“Maria started teaching me back on the island while we waited,” and here the boy stumbled, obviously unwilling to remember back to the time he spent separated from Edward. Some righteous indignation fuelled the boy on and he continued, “And I wished to continue now.”

Adamant refusal was on the tip of the captain’s tongue but he stilled his actions and took a moment to truly  _look_ at the boy.

Connor stood firmly in the face of Edward’s disapproval in a move too bold to have belonged to the boy Edward had left on Crooked Island. The attack on the island had irreparably changed him and Edward found that he was proud of the boy for standing strong even when he stood against the older assassin.

While one hand clenched the long stick (and Edward could see now that it was truly nothing more than a straightened piece of wood roughly smoothed out with a handle wrapped in cloth) another had worked its way to the boy’s face. As Edward watched, the boy thumbed over the large scab on his cheek just under the bone and knew his protestations would prove to be useless.

Edward darted a glance towards his Sister (Maria, Connor had called her) and noted that she had withdrawn to rest against the mortar canons in deference to their discussion. He brown eyes met Edward’s own blue pair evenly and ducked a moment later, conveying her acceptance of Edward’s decision whatever it may be. Even though his rank as Master Assassin entitled him to her deference he wished that she might provide more insight into the matter, but she remained a bystander.

With a resigned sigh, Edward crouched in front of the child and regarded him seriously. “This is what you desire, Connor?”

Though the boy was surprised at the captain’s easy acceptance, he responded quickly, “It is.”

“Then I suppose…”Edward drew out, his fear from earlier finally fading away into amusement as Connor leaned forward eagerly to hear his verdict. “That as your captain I give you permission to do so.”

The boy let out a triumphant call before muffling his voice behind his unoccupied hand in embarrassment over his own action.

“A wise choice, Brother.” Maria said, joining the two once more. “I shall train him to be a greater swordsman than you and watch with great joy when he defeats you in battle.”

“I think that’d be many years yet.” Maria just shrugged at his comment before drawing Connor back into practice.

Evidently dismissed, Edward withdrew to rest against the nearest stack of crates and content himself to watching. With a head not clouded by instinctual rage, he could tell that Maria moved with obvious and over exaggerated movements, leading Connor through a few rudimentary moves but never pressing harder than a firm rap against the boy’s wooden stick.

The swordplay continued for an hour before the woman called it over, and while she was hardly winded, Connor was flushed and glowing with boyish pride over the sparing session.

Edward watched as Maria waved the boy away, laughing as he seemed to bounce down the deck to his post between Adéwalé and the stairs.

He waved the boy over and stepped aside to allow his quartermaster control over the Jackdaw.

“I see you survived your first lesson, wreck boy,” Edward said and received a blinding grin in response.

“Not my first,” Connor said between large gulps of air.

“Right, right,” Edward said, nodding solemnly. “Ready to face me in a match?”

Connor seized him up, the act causing laughter to build up in his chest but he managed to push it down if only just. “Maybe not today.”

“An excellent answer. I’m afraid we’d need a new cabin boy if I faced you in combat. I’d leave you in ribbons,” Edward joked.

“You wouldn’t,” Connor replied with all the conviction an eight-year-old could muster.

“Oh?” Edward said, surprised. “Why is that?”

“You would have to answer to Adéwalé.”

“You have me there,” Edward conceded, barely refraining from glaring over the boy’s head towards his quartermaster when he heard his muffled snort of mirth. The conversation died out but Edward was not quite ready to resume control over his ship and remained where he stood off to the side.

Edward relaxed against the short rail behind him; his elbows perched against the wood as he took in the expanse trailing behind the Jackdaw as they moved further south.

“Edward, I was wondering…” Connor said, suddenly shy once more.

“Yes, lad?”

“The crew…they all have those blue-“ the boy mad an abortive gesture towards his head, clearly lost for the correct term. Edward stared blankly before making the connection between Connor’s vague gesture and his crew.

“The bandanas?” The off-hand nature of the conversation threw Edward and he was puzzled as to why Connor would bring it up now.

“Yes! I think though I am not sure…”the boy quickly regrouped from his trailing thought. “Why do they all wear them? The blue ones? I saw so many colors of cloth in Crooked Island and I do not understand why they are all the same if there are other colors.”

The boy was fishing for something but at the moment Edward could not place his finger on exactly what answer Connor sought. In light of that, the best he could do was answer as comprehensively as he could.

“The men wear them to mark them as members of my crew—of the Jackdaw’s crew. It sets them apart in boarding raids making is easy to distinguish friend from foe and while we’re in port at the various towns. In Nassau, for example, everyone knows that the men marked in blue are under my command and not to be trifled with on a whim.” Edward let out a short, rueful laugh. “I was not—am not—known for showing leniency when members of my crew come under attack or into question. What brought on the sudden interest?”

Connor ignored his question and instead answer with one of his own, “It marks them as yours? As part of your family?”

Had he ever described his crew as such? Or was Connor picking up on the undercurrent that was always present when Edward was among his men?

“As part of my crew, yes.” Edward said, the two terms synonymous in his mind.

A thought occurred to him. Suddenly, Connor’s timid actions and the boy’s uncharacteristically jumbled speech made sense. The boy knew exactly what those pieces of cloth symbolized, probably knew even before he had come to ask Edward himself. But to come right out and ask for it would not be in the boy’s nature.

Luckily, Edward himself was always prepared for situations such as this. Reaching into his inner breast pocket, the Assassin pulled a small, tightly folded square of fabric free. Although not the customary shade of robin’s egg blue that the rest of the crew wore, the emergency cloth he always carried was a pale blue, worn soft and light from countless washings. It was usually used for binding wounds that posed an immediate danger  when he could not spare a visit to a doctor, especially when he was in flight after a successful assassination.

It would have to due until Edward could pull into port at Kingston. The docks there were always well stocked with the correct shade of fabric.

Kneeling in front of the boy, Edward reached up and bound the fabric over the boys black hair, mindful of the braids framing the boy’s face. As he worked, the Captain spoke the traditional words he always offered new recruits.

“Connor, with this cloth I mark you as a wanted man. No longer will you be able to hid from the law, always will you be known as a member of the Jackdaw—always a part of its crew. With this, I mark you as an accomplice of an Assassin, of our Brotherhood and our goals. I mark you as a friend and comrade.”

He knew that the boy would not understand the latter half of his oath, at least not yet but perhaps in time he would come to understand the magnitude of the oath he now swore. He waited for the boy to nod before continuing, “I look forward to serving with you, Connor.”

Connor reached a tentative hand up to the cloth, pulling it down to further cover his forehead, a look of awe on his face.

Edward was aware of Adéwalé shifting uneasily on his feet naught but a few paces away and knew from that small movement that he would be receiving a lengthy lecture on his actions. But as it was, he could not regret them and knew that Adéwalé could likewise not find fault in his decision.

Connor had earned his place in their family. Edward was just making it official.

***

Night descended slowly over the Jackdaw, each of its occupants reluctant to fall asleep when they were so near their goal but it would be folly to continue sailing at night no matter how desperate they were to reach land.

Edward himself was moments away from turning in for the evening when he caught sight of a hint of blue on the top. There was only one person who would be up there so late at night: Connor. Edward wondered when the boy had returned to his habit of resting on the top late in the evening.

He made short work of the shroud and reached the top within moments and his suspicion was confirmed. Connor sat against the mast, tugging his new bandana lower as he noticed Edward’s presence.

Frowning at the gesture, Edward crossed the short platform and took a seat on the opposite side of the mast. From his vantage point his could just see Connor out of the corner of his eye. He hoped that the supposed distance would incite the boy into speaking what was on his mind but after half an hour had passed in silence, Edward stole another glance at his companion.

He was doing it again.

Small fingers pressed into the scar, fingernails digging into the barely healed flesh and making the line bright pink in their wake. The sight drove guilt further into Edward’s heart. He could take it no more. He shuffled to the other side of the main mast, shoulders brushing against the cold wood as he settled once more beside the boy.

“Connor.”

The boy looked up, fingers still pressed firmly into the skin, into Edward’s mistake. Not one he could carry but one that would forever be on that little boy, always reminding the captain of his folly.

“Come now, it’s not that bad. If you keep picking at it, soon you’ll be more scared than weathered bark!” That was a mistake. The boy shrunk back at the mention of his scar, fingers falling away from his check to clench in his lap instead.

Cursing softly, Edward let the silence fall again, his mind in a whirl, trying to find a way to fix the situation. An idea came to him.

“Connor, give me your hand." The abrupt nature of the command startled the boy, his hand half-way raising towards Edward before he could still it. The sign of trust warmed Edward’s heart and steeled his conviction.

He reached the rest of the way to drag the boy’s hand closer to his own face and pressed the short fingers against the scar that cut across his stubble covered cheek. The line was long and pronounced, nearly bisecting his cheek in half. The suture wounds could still be seen from when the flesh had been sewn back together.

“Feel that? I got that from a pirate hunter a few years back,” as he talked he kept the boy’s hand close to his face, fingers loosening their grasp on the boy' wrist as he felt Connor press his nails against the thick line. “Thought I had him down when the bastard shot a knife at my face. Last thing he did. And here, nearly had my eye cut out by a pirate just the other year. Smarmy blaggard has one to match though! And see this? Right across the nose. My mother used to say that it ruined my charm though the ladies seem to disagree.”

As he spoke, Edward guided the boy’s hand over his own scars, the lines deep and stark even against his sun tanned skin. He had more, but they were fainter and he couldn’t remember where most of them came from. But those that marred the right side of his face—especially those that marked him as a pirate—were the ones he remembered best.

“We all have scars, Connor: me, Adé, Maria. Even the fiercest and strongest of us have been marked by another. I can’t think of a pirate worth his salt that hasn’t at least one scar on his body from a lost fight. They do not mark us as failures, or cowards, or weak.” He saw the boy’s shoulders jump at the last one and Edward thought he understood the boy for a moment. “They mark us as brave.

“Remember, the living carry on with scars while the dead take their wounds to the grave. These marks remind us that we’re alive. We’re not invincible no, but that shouldn’t stop us from seeking out adventure and more fights yet.

“Take pride in those marks, Connor. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

The boy seemed to still again before collapsing against Edward’s chest, small hands digging into the thick white fabric of the Assassin’s robes. Edward paused, unused to this type of contact but unwilling to push the boy away for the sake of his own comfort. Awkwardly, he rested his hand on Connor’s shoulder, patting in what he thought was a comforting manner, words caught in his throat.

Beneath the crow’s nest, the faint sounds of the sea and the Jackdaw’s skeleton crew working created a steady rhythm in the night air.

From far below, as if in a dream, one of the crew members began to sing. Their voice was soft in the night, barely heard over the wind and settling of the sea around the ship.

“I thought I heard the old man say: leave her, Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow ye will get your pay and it’s time for us to leave her.”

Edward let the shanty wash over him, head titled back against the wood of main mast. Beside him, Connor had fallen asleep once more, his small form easily curled up on the platform and heedless of the night chill.

His eyes tracked the sky a moment longer before falling shut, calmed by the rocking of his ship and the voice of his crew riding the night’s air.

“Leave her, Johnny, leave her. Oh leave her, Johnny, leave her. For the voyage is long and the winds don’t blow and it’s time for us to leave her.”

Above, unnoticed by either the crew or the waves, Edward and Connor slept on the top, lulled by the comforting sounds of home.

***

Edward woke with a start, the shrill cry of a gull startling him awake. He jerked up, disoriented for a moment on where he was before the night before came back to him.

In a daze he looked around, noting the soft indigo sky of an early morning as a pack of seagulls sailed over the Jackdaw’s masts with a series of shrill cries. The deck was quiet, the break between the night crew retiring and the main crew taking over leaving no soul out at the early hour.

Gazing out over the horizon revealed a rocky shape looming ever closer to the Jackdaw off its prow, its form clouded by distance.

Connor was still asleep and dangerously close to rolling off the edge of the platform so Edward tugged him closer to the mast by the back of shirt. The boy awoke with a groan, unused to being awake so early.

“Come now, lad. Best we’d hurry down before the men catch us up here like a couple of landlubbers."

Edward supposed he should feel lucky that no one had seen their captain sleeping outside on the top.

“It is too late for that, captain.”

Well, almost no one.

Edward peered over the edge of the wooden platform catching sight of Adéwalé standing at the foot of the mast. “I think the rest of the crew would find you two quite the sight.”

Edward waved Adé's comments off before beginning the climb down the ladder, never stumbling even as his limbs still tingled from being held in their awkward position all night. Connor, after a few attempts, likewise made it down the ladder though far slower than the captain.

“I’m sure this story will provide the men with jokes for a week, Edward,” Adé said.

“Tell them, and the crew might find out just why it was we ran out of rum so fast before making land at Cat Island last month.”

That brought the other man up short. “You had a hand in that, captain. The men would be equally upset at you.”

“True, but at least I wouldn’t be alone in facing their wrath.” Edward knew he had bought Adé’s silence, if only for a week, and headed towards his cabin. “Prepare the men for land, quartermaster. Kingston is within sight.”

“Aye, sir.”

Finally, they would have their answers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Leave her Johnny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEWS5dGSDOc&index=51&list=WL>) is my favorite shanty by far in AC4
> 
> The next update won't be for a bit. I need to focus on my DABB and school work for now. And there's an AC story idea that's been buzzing around my writing folders that I keep getting distracted by.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Kingston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jackdaw arrives in Kingston and the hunt begins

**XIII. Kingston**

“Stay close now, _Idi_ ,” Adéwalé warned the boy. “Kingston is not the most welcoming of places to our kind nor the easiest to navigate when lost.”

“Come now, Adé,” Edward gave a cheerful clap to his quartermaster’s shoulder. “He’ll be just fine. We’re only making a quick stop to the Bureau after all.”

“An action I advised against, Edward,” Adéwalé said without missing a beat, the threat of an argument brewing between the captain and his crew member.

“As I remember most vividly from your lecture yesterday,” Edward retorted in good nature, a hint of steel creeping into his voice when he spoke again. “But Antó has information I need and the Jackdaw is being refitted with hull improvements. That’s too many unknown people on my ship as is, I can’t take the chance that—“

“Yes, you’re right, captain,” Adéwalé cut in, something he rarely did when his captain spoke. His quick glance towards Connor went unnoticed by the boy but Edward caught on and regained his affable mood.

“Besides, I’m sure Connor would like the chance to stretch his legs. A week is a long time to stay on a ship especially for someone as wet behind the ears as Connor. We’ll meet you at the tavern in the north end of town before evening, you have my word.”

With that, the blonde man began moving smoothly between dock hands with the much smaller native boy hurrying in his wake.

Edward moved easily around the various obstacles on the crowded docks, pushing aside hurrying sailors and sliding around Spanish dancers once they reached the main land. Connor, much less versed in crowds, struggled to keep up with the man’s easy albeit quick pace.

Edward looked around as he strode through the city, his eyes taking in the overwhelming sight that was Kingston. 

The city's numerous wooden buildings were laid out in a haphazard manner. Most were clustered close to the waterfront in tight rows, but even then there was space enough for trees, animals, bushes, and people.

The  _people_ .

 

They were everywhere. Yelling, talking, laughing, swearing, singing; all the noise swirled together and laid over the port like a heavy shroud. The numerous languages spoken by Kingston's inhabitants only added to the sheer volume of its port.

After the long, quiet nights aboard the Jackdaw with only the sound of the sea and the crew, the sounds of the city nearly overwhelmed Edward, despite his familiarity with the city itself.

He wondered how it appeared to Connor.

Looking discretely over his shoulder, he had his answer. Connor was a yard behind him, his brown eyes wide as they tracked each and every object that brushed by his smaller form.

While the boy's curiosity was endearing, his distance made Edward uneasy. Had he not just promised his quartermaster that he would keep the boy close?

He slowed his paced and waited for Connor to catch up.

“Mind that you keep close, Connor,” Edward spoke the minute Connor rejoined him, not even needing to gaze down at the boy to know that he had returned.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled, edging closer to the man.

The two continued on in silence, weaving their way deeper into the city and taking quick turns when men in gold coats turned onto the same path. Finally, the two reached a large courtyard walled off by a tall wooden fence. A smaller house was tucked against one of its walls, the walls made from sturdy wood painted gray. A lone desk made of barrels and a solid piece of wood was placed against another wall, a hooded figure hunched over the maps spread over its surface.

“Antó!” Edward called out to the man, nudging Connor towards the building. “I’ve come for a favor.”

“A favor?” the other figure—a dark skinned man with a voice that resonated deep within his chest—looked over towards the blonde captain, eyes cast in shadow by his white hood. “Last I recall Kenway, it was you who owed me a favor.”

“I settled that debt if  _you_ recall.”

Giving a soft laugh the man walked over towards Edward, the men grasping one another’s forearms in greeting. “And so you did. Tell me, Brother, what can I help you with?”

“Information. I need—“

“To introduce your young friend there,” Antó cut in, nodding towards an eavesdropping Connor. Edward paused before he caught on and realized that Connor could still hear the two men.

“Right, of course. Connor, come here a moment.” Edward gestured to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder once he drew close enough. “This here is the Jackdaw’s newest cabin boy, Connor Kenway.”

“Kenway?” Antó said and peered closer at the half native boy. “Then he is yours?”

“No, but that is why I’m here. You might remember my mentioning of a cousin of mine, an English fellow by the name of Haytham?”

“The Templar?” the Maroon man asked, casting another penetrating gaze towards the native boy.

“Ex-Templar, yes,” Edward’s statement was met with a beat of silence before the hooded man nodded.

“We have much to discuss then.” Antó motioned Edward towards the bureau.

“Do you have a novice to spare? Connor cannot be left alone. I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Of course.” Quickly and efficiently, the man summoned a woman from seemingly nowhere, the hooded figure emerging and leading the smaller boy away towards a nearby tree. Connor planted his feet, resisting her even as his eyes sought out Edward’s.

“It’s alright Connor, you can trust her. Antó and I have some things we need to discuss but I’ll be right there should the need arise.” With one last glance towards the frowning child, Edward and the Maroon Assassin disappeared into the wooden building, doors closing after them with a sense of finality.

***

Edward settled down in a nearby chair, gratefully accepting the mug Antó passed him. He was less pleased to discover that it was water and not ale inside.

“Cheers, mate.” Antó, used to Edward’s penchant for alcohol and sarcasm, ignored the man.

“You have been keeping secrets, Brother.”

“You have me wrong. I just learned this myself—the hard way—not long since in Havana.”

“Best start at the beginning then, Kenway.”

Draining the last of his mug, Edward began explaining to the Maroon Assassin, simplifying what he could.

“My cousin Haytham Kenway was, as I’ve told you before, a Templar. A rather high ranking one at that, set to become the first Grand Master of the Colonies before the decade was out. While in the colonies he met a native woman—Connor’s mother—and the two, I suppose, went the way most people do: they got married and not long after had Connor.

“The next bit doesn’t make a lick of sense and it’s why I’m here now,” Edward said. “From what I’ve gathered from a pirate captain at the old fishing village and one chatty Templar in Havana, the Templars ordered the attack on Haytham a month ago. The next Colonial Grand Master and their Order places a bounty on his head and cries for his blood. Within the month, a pirate crew found them aboard the Aquila and sunk it along with all onboard save for Connor.”

 “But that is not all,” Antó said, chuckling at Edward’s surprised look. “If that was the end of it, then you wouldn’t be here seeking out a favor.”

“No, it’s not.” Edward’s next words tasted like poison, “The Templars want Connor dead too. The Templar in Havana made it more than clear that they wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than the complete eradication of Haytham’s line. We left Connor behind not two weeks back on Crooked Island along with some of our Brothers heading north to the colonies to meet with Achilles. We, no,  _I_ thought he’d be safe there.”

Edward clenched his hand around his tankard, knuckles white as the guilt washed over him once more. It dug into his chest and tore down his throat, choking his words and weighing down his tongue, an acidic taste filling his mouth. “Christ I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking. The kid had already grown on us but the Jackdaw is no place for a child. So I left him. Then we found out the truth, about the bounty and the Templars’ role and how they wanted him dead too.”

Giving a sharp laugh, Edward’s eyes fell towards the table next to him as he continued, “So we high tail it back to Crooked Island but it’s been a week since we last saw the boy and we didn’t even know if he was still there.”

“But he was,” Antó supplied, and his deep voice calmed Edward down enough to loosen his death grip on his drink.

“Aye he was—along with a fucking platoon of Templars and shit pirates throwing their lot in with them for the promise of some coin. The island was chaos and finding the boy took ages and when we did—“Edward broke off and stared into space for some time, warring with himself once more.

“We found him and got him and our remaining Brothers on the Jackdaw and have been heading here since.” If Antó noticed Edward’s change in tone he didn’t mention it, merely nodded along with the Assassin’s tale.

“You seek to know who is behind this order and silence them.”

“I do. All I’ve got is a name: Rogers.”

Antó stood and moved to a nearby self, drawing a thin tome from the shelves and placing it before Edward. “You are in luck, Brother. I’ve had my eye—and those of my novices—on Rogers since he was transferred here from England.”

Quickly Antó flipped through the thin pages, stopping at the sketched portrait of a man with a scar spanning his entire left cheek, hair cropped short and dressed in a governor’s outfit.

“Captain Woodes Rogers. Newly elected head of Kingston and Templar Knight. I can think of no other man with the same name capable of issuing such an order. If this is your man, Edward, his death could not come at a better time.”

“Why’s that?”

“From what we’ve managed to gather, he is attempting to regain Nassau and enforce British rule on the island.”

“Nassau?” Edward asked surprised. He hadn’t thought the Order cared for the affairs of pirates.

As if reading Edward’s thoughts Antó closed the book, pushing it towards the blonde captain. “The Order may not care for many of your ilk but we cannot allow Rogers to establish a Templar base on Nassau, especially not one with the backing of the British navy.”

“Agreed,” Edward said, knowing that while some of the pirates he knew were good men and women, there were many on Nassau who were less than savory. “Upton is having a hard enough time as is trying to rebuild his support and spy network after Vance’s betrayal. The man could use a break.”

“Then we are in agreement. Come, I will tell you what I can of the man’s movements though I warn you, Edward.” The Maroon Assassin leveled an even glance at Edward, holding the man’s gaze. “This is not a man to be taken lightly. There can be no mistakes.”

“You have my word, Brother. I will not fail.”

***

After his business with Antó was concluded, Edward led Connor away from the bureau and further into the city towards the meeting point. The Marley Brewery was buried deep within the twisting paths of Kingston’s north end, a favored spot by pirates and locals in equal measure. Likewise, the Assassins of the port city used the tavern as a meeting ground to share information and as a rendezvous point for city-based missions.

Sidestepping a small group of people clustered on the road, Edward looked down at Connor. The boy had been quiet since they left the Maroon Assassin though why he couldn’t guess.

Passing through a busy market square, Edward’s attention was caught by one of the merchants just off the road. There was a small group of children clustered nearby shooting longing glances towards the stand though they remained firmly in place. The man’s table was laden down with various jars of spices and burlap sacks bulging with goods but what caught Edward's attention was the small accumulation of bags clustered in the center of the table.

Eyebrows raising slightly, a small smile lifted the corner of the Assassin’s mouth as he gently nudged the boy towards the merchant’s wares. The heady scent of cinnamon and nutmeg hung over the shop in a near palpable aura but did little to hide the sweet bite of sugared goods. The small cluster of bags were tucked next to small sacks of sugar, a faded tag attached to each declaring their contents and price to Edward’s keen eyes. Edward caught the merchant’s eye with a small wave.

“Connor, how would you like some sweetmeats?” Edward said, reaching into his pouch for a few coins and already grasping for one of the small bags.

“What?” the boy looked baffled, eyebrows beginning to scrunch together. What sort of meat was sweet?

After passing over the required coins, Edward led them off to the side and out of the way of the growing afternoon crowd. He bent down slightly and passed the bag over to the small boy, laughing lightly at his confused expression.

“They’re sweets Connor,” he said, resting his hands on his waist as he smiled fondly down at the boy. “My father used to buy me chocolate when we went into town to sell our wool back in Wales. There was nothing better than that small treat when I was a lad even if my mother scolded my father for spending money on sweets.

“It’s a shame but it’s a bit too early for chocolate here in the Caribbean right now, but these are just as good.” the captain watched as the boy pulled the twine knot apart revealing a small assortment of brightly colored treats nestled within the pale linen. “They’re called comfits, little sugared almonds.”

Connor pulled one of the pale, elongated candies out, hesitantly placing it in his mouth and biting down through the sugar coating. He made a surprised sound as the treat broke with a small crack before a delighted smile crossed his face. Giving a small hum of pleasure the boy placed another in his mouth and ate it before speaking.

“Thank you, Edward.” the man nodded before setting off through the crowd once more, eager to meet with his quartermaster.

The two continued walking, Connor busying himself with the small candies. He offered a few to Edward then tied the bag shut and tucked it away into his pocket. Suddenly, the boy spoke.

“My mother used to sneak me some of the syrup we gathered from the  _Wahta_ trees in the winter.”

“Wahta trees?”

The boy’s face scrunched up for a moment in thought before he released a frustrated breath.

“I do not know what they are called in English. Akenistén:’a never—“Connor broke off, frowning down at the ground and growing quiet once more. Edward was quick to break the silence, not wanting the boy to get caught in his morose thoughts.

“Connor, be sure not to tell Adé about this. He’d scold me for spoiling you if he knew I’d been feeding you sweets and you know how he jumps at any chance to lecture me. It’ll be our secret, how about it?”

It worked. The boy gave a small laugh nodding, his dark mood form earlier passing easily.

Relieved that it had worked, Edward nodded at the boy his own mood lifting as he spotted the tavern just down the road. Adéwalé was waiting outside underneath the buildings awning, the wood faded and weather beaten from the tropical rainstorms that wracked the island.

Approaching the man, Edward clasped his friend’s forearm in greeting.

“Good to see you made it on time, Edward,” the Trinidadian man said as he led the way into the tavern. “Was Antó able to offer any information?”

Edward stepped through the doorway, eyes automatically scanning the room and taking stock of its occupants. Briefly, his eyesight blurred as the patrons were replaced by a sea of white and the occasional speck of blue from a trustworthy pirate or novice assassin. Reassured, Edward offered his quartermaster a slight nod as he directed their small group towards a back table.

“Aye, Adé, and not all of it bad.”

The Assassin nudged Connor into the chair closest to the wall while taking the seat right next to it. Adéwalé mimicked him on the opposite of the table and angled his body towards his captain. Quickly, Edward relayed all that Antó had told him. Once done, the Trinidadian Assassin leaned back in his chair to consider the information.

“What do you intend to do, captain?”

“Kill Rogers.” there was no other option. Adé nodded as if he had known Edward’s answer all along.

“Then we are behind you, Edward.”

“Me too,” Connor’s voice surprised Edward and he glanced towards the boy. Connor’s brow was furrowed but his gaze did not waver when it locked with the Assassin’s.

“You know what it is you offer, right Connor?” Edward had to make sure. He couldn’t choose for the boy and he couldn’t change his mind either by the looks of it. But Connor needed to understand the implications of his support. “You are agreeing to the murder of a man, no light a task.”

“I am sure, Edward.” Connor briefly glanced down at the table as his hand rose to the scar on his cheek for a brief touch. “I do not want him to hurt anyone else and I…”

“You?” Edward softly encouraged the boy.

“I cannot forgive him for what he has done to my mother and father, to the Aquila and the Jackdaw, and everyone on that island.”

“Then I will see it done, Connor,” he said and grasped one of the boy’s hands with the all the solemnity of an oath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahta - Sugar maple  
> Akenistén:’a - my mother
> 
> I loved all of the Bureau heads in AC4, but Antó was on an entirely different level of amazing. (Though Upton was hilarious)
> 
> The amount of research I put into small details is ridiculous. I got distracted looking up[the history of candy](http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodcandy.html#earlyamericancandy) when I wrote this chapter. But it was actually really cool?
> 
> This is the last completely finished chapter I have for this but! I have the last couple in the rough, so no worries. This will be finished.
> 
> But I really need to focus on my Dragon Age BB right now, so the next update won't be for a bit.


End file.
